


Forgotten Souls

by thephilosophersapprentice



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ishbalan | Ishvalan, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Animal Abuse, Blood and Injury, Child Neglect, Chimeras, Chronic Pain, Gen, Guns, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Ishbal | Ishval, Ishbalan | Ishvalan Edward Elric, Ishbalan | Ishvalan Trisha Elric, Mentions of Abortion, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of miscarriage, Nightmares, Past Character Death, Past Murder, Poisoning, Racism, Rebound, Suspense, Torture, Underage Smoking Mention, Violence, Vomiting, alchemy shenanigans, because I said so, everything is an ishvalan au now, hawkeye is in the character tags what were you expecting, historically-accurate mostly medically-appropriate drug use, i swear I didn't want a huge block of tags but this fic just keeps dealing with dark topics, mentions of euthanasia, more tags to come, this fic pulls fewer punches the more I write, this is where I'm dumping all my complex alchemy headcanons, underage drug use mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2020-09-30 20:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 46,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20453021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thephilosophersapprentice/pseuds/thephilosophersapprentice
Summary: "Edward cautiously shifted the old newspaper to get a better look at the article. It was actually illustrated—a hand sketch that had been converted to lithograph, then printed—Oh, Truth.His own face—cold, lean, blank—stared back at him from the crumbling, brown paper."Assigned a paper about the annexation of the Eastern Sector, Edward Brosh finds an old poetry book with "The Central Times," a list of dates and page numbers, and "The truth is seldom glimpsed on the surface" written on the last page. With corruption in the military, censorship, and strange dreams that just might be memories closing in, Edward is about to face a side of Amestris history has forgotten.





	1. Assignment

The bell of the bookshop tinkled merrily as Edward pulled the door open. It was a small place—nestled in a tiny corner between a bakery and a government office—but according to its plaque, it had been there well over three hundred years, and that made it Edward’s last real lead when it came to understanding the East Area conflicts. Sometimes forgotten manuscripts lingered on the shelves of small family bookstores for decades, escaping the fate of other copies that ended up suppressed.

“Good afternoon,” the proprietor—a woman with short dirty-blond hair and a bright, kindly smile—greeted. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

“Just browsing,” Edward said cheerfully, turning toward the shelves. They were somewhat organized, but you never knew where to look for sure.

* * *

Two hours later, Edward’s search was still fruitless, and he was aimlessly flipping through a book of psalms penned by some scholar long ago. On the endpaper was written in a hand Edward couldn’t recognize, but still found oddly familiar, “The Central Times,” followed by a series of dates and numbers—sections and page numbers. At the bottom was written “The truth is seldom glimpsed on the surface.” A scrawled insignia like the head of a bird of prey adjoined this cryptic message.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Edward called toward the proprietor. “Do you have any old back issues of the Central Times here? From the 1650s and 1660s?”

She came out from behind the counter, curious. “A few, I think, in the backroom. They’d have quite a few more at the library. Why?”

Edward showed her the list of dates. “I want to know why someone chose to write those particular dates.”

“Come with me,” the owner said, guiding him into the back room. Edward helped her shift boxes around until they uncovered the crates full of old copies of the Central Times. They spread the indicated sections out on the table in the back. Ed looked them over thoughtfully.

“A lot of articles about the eastern annexation,” the proprietor commented. “They seemed to appear almost daily.”

“Is that what this is about, then?” Edward asked.

“’The truth is rarely glimpsed on the surface,” the proprietor quoted. “Sounds like some sort of conspiracy theory.”

“Well, they really glossed this over in school. Doing more research can’t hurt, right?”

The woman laughed. “You sound just like my husband. I’m Gracia Hughes.”

“Edward Brosh.” They shook hands. Edward held up the book. “Is it all right if I buy this?”

“Well, it _is_ a book store, Mr. Curious. Just come back and tell me what you find out, all right?”

* * *

“You’re back late, Edward, did you go haring off on another lead again?” Denny Brosh caught Edward in the entryway, ruffling up his bangs.

Ed groaned. “Da-ad! Stop messing up my hair!”

Dad grinned. “Well, did you?”

Ed sighed. “I still haven’t had much luck with sources for the essay.”

Dad laughed. “You’re never satisfied, are you? Everything has to be perfect.”

Ed grumbled, putting his chin on the bannister. “If only writing was an exact science like alchemy. There’s too many variables. Too many different words with very slightly different meanings. It’s too vague. Ugh.”

Dad gave Edward a gentle push. “You wish everything was like alchemy,” he teased.

“It’s like mathematics, just easier.” Ed shrugged. “I guess numbers are just….” He made a vague hand motion. “Balancing equations. It makes _sense_. Half the arguments I try to make don’t, at least according to my composition teacher.”

Dad gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Just do your best, Ed. I know you’ll do great.”

* * *

Edward pushed his locker closed, shifting the pile of books against his hip with his automail hand. The blow sent a jolt of pain all the way up his shoulder, through the bolts that held the arm onto his skeleton. He focused on not showing any pain or surprise and bent to pick up the books.

“Freak.”

Edward sighed. “Really, Caleb? Can’t you think of anything more original?” He swung around to face the grinning boy. “If you’ll excuse me, god’s gift to the field of mathematics is headed in that direction.” He moved to brush past Caleb, but the taller boy caught his arm and swung him around.

“I’ve seen your parents pick you up after school. Sure, your ‘dad’s’ blond, but not _that_ shade of blond. You always look so dirty. And you don’t look like your mom at all.”

“Let go of me,” Edward said, quietly.

“Your mom probably did something funny with someone who wasn’t your ‘dad,’ huh?”

Edward saw red. The next thing he knew, Caleb was lying perfectly still on the floor, his cronies had fled, and three of the passing lower classmen were staring at him wide-eyed.

_Oh, crap._

* * *

There was awkward silence as Edward climbed into the passenger seat of the family car, pulling the door closed. Dad pulled away from the curb, heading toward home. The silence held for several blocks before Dad finally asked, “What happened today, Ed? This isn’t like you.”

Ed stared out the window, silent.

“_Edward_.”

“He implied that you’re not my biological father this time,” Edward said softly. “As if… Dad. Is he _right_? I know Mom would never cheat on you, but… That doesn’t mean…” He stared at his lap, blinking rapidly.

Denny jammed on the brakes. Fortunately, they were on a backroad without much traffic. Relenting, Dad pulled over and put the parking brake on; then he turned to face Ed. “Ed. Edward, look at me.”

Hesitantly, Ed looked up.

“I don’t understand why you don’t look like me, or like your mom. But that doesn’t matter. You are our son; there’s no one else you _could_ be, by the way. We love you. No matter what you do or what you need, we’re with you all the way.”

“I know,” Edward whispered.

“Don’t worry about your mother. We might not know why you don’t look like us, but… even with our jobs, life’s been fortunately uneventful. Maria’s fine. You’re fine.”

Edward stared out the window. “Okay.”


	2. Plunge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed has a nightmare and a bad pain day.

The coach was cold—the winter wind blew consistently through cracks in the rough sides of the carriage, chilling him to the bone. The constant motion, too, jarred his aching stumps, sending sharp cold-hot jolts up his thigh and through his shoulder and chest. Between the jerky movement of the coach and his own shivers, his head ached, unable to sit still for a moment.

What a poor excuse for a birthday.

Keeping an eye on the guards—snug in their winter coats—sitting on the other seat, Hawkeye pulled Edward closer, unbuttoning her coat and wrapping it around them both. It helped, some. She watched him intently without speaking, her rough-cut blond bangs falling into her eyes.

Edward stared at his well-worn, slashed boots. His old and battered automail barely bent at the knee any more; it was more of a hindrance than a help at this point. All he could do was pray Winry had been left alone; that she had escaped with Al. The Amestrians should have had no reason to go after the Rockbells.

“I’m fine,” he breathed.

Hawkeye simply tugged her overcoat closer over them both, silently. Edward sucked in a pained hiss as a rough section of the road further jolted his already-aching body.

“Try to sleep,” Hawkeye murmured.

They both knew he probably wouldn’t.

* * *

Edward struggled with consciousness that hovered inches from his face in the heart of a fog. His head throbbed slowly in time with the ache in his shoulder and leg.

“Ed, time to get up,” Dad called, the stairs creaking under his feet. Ed couldn’t seem to pry his eyes open. “Normally you’re up before Alex. Is something wrong?”

Ed had finally managed to open his eyes, only to wish he hadn’t. Everything hurt, the pain exacerbated by the intrusion of light. He couldn’t even seem to move to pull the covers over his head and gain some relief.

“Ed?” Dad asked, concerned.

Ed groaned, sitting up. The movement made his chest and stomach spasm painfully. He slid his legs from under the covers and tried to stand, but fell.

“Ed!” Dad’s hands were on his shoulder and lower back, anchoring him to reality with two points that weren’t just solid pain.

“Think I’m gonna… throw up…” Ed managed.

Dad half-carried him to the bathroom just in time. He brushed Edward’s bangs back from his face when it was over. “I’m guessing school is out of the question, then.”

Ed could only manage a pained groan in response.

Alex appeared at the doorway. “Dad! Is Ed okay?”

“I think he’s having a bad day with his automail,” Dad said. _Thank you_, Edward thought, since he didn’t seem to be capable of saying it. “Rest and aspirin should help with that.”

“I’m staying home to help!”

“No, you’re not. Lia has the day off; she can keep an eye on him.”

“Daaad,” Alex whined.

“Hey,” Ed croaked, turning his head where he’d rested it against the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl to look at Alex. “You’ve gotta make sure I don’t fall behind, okay? You’ve got to tell me everything you learned when you get home.” He smiled at Alex, or tried to, through the throbbing in his shoulder and thigh.

Alex stood in the doorway, torn. Finally he sighed. “Okay. But you better be better when I get home!” he threatened.

“I’ll do my best,” Ed promised.

Alex turned and rushed down the hallway.

“It _is_ just the automail acting up, right?” Dad asked.

“I think so,” Edward said. “This feels worse than when it was attached. This’s… constant, not spiking.”

“I’ll have Lia give your specialists a call, see what they think.” Dad gave Ed’s left shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Feel better soon, okay?”

Ed nodded. “Can you help me get back to bed?”

“And an emesis basin,” Dad told him, helping him up slowly.

“Mmmkay.”

* * *

When he woke up again, he felt fuzzy. He still hurt, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

The dream. It had been so oddly vivid, making sense in the way dream logic always did… but there was something about this dream’s logic that even held up now he was awake… but maybe that was the morphine talking.

There was nothing openly ridiculous in the dream, looking back on it. True, he had felt like he _was_ someone else, but… everything held together. The rules hadn’t changed once through the course of the dream.

Now it came to it, why hadn’t the dream given him more of a reason for being packed off in a prison car on a train in the winter? His birthday was in the summer, his automail was perfectly functional, and he didn’t know anyone named Hawkeye.

His automail.

Even though it hadn’t been exposed in the dream, he still could picture it as it had been in the dream—a completely different design than the sleekly industrial limbs he currently bore. Still lovingly made, but there was something about the lines of the prosthetics that didn’t line up nearly as well with a human limb as his current automail did. It hadn’t offered quite the same range of motion, either…

Maybe his mind was just throwing up random details from the research into automail and its history he’d done in preparation for the move to automail.

Dammit, he hadn’t had a day half this bad in more than eighteen months. He couldn’t remember a time this bad _ever_, unless it was during the surgery itself. Ed was grateful that, while he’d been awake for the surgery—you couldn’t find the right nerves unless the patient was awake—he didn’t remember much of it. Small mercies.

Aunt Lia came in, carrying a mug of steaming tea. “How are you doing?”

“Better, I think.” Edward cautiously tried to sit up. “I think I’m up to take a hot bath.”

“I’ll go start it. Take your time.”

Ed sipped at his tea, listening as the water started running down the hall. The pipes still knocked sometimes when they first started running hot water. Aunt Lia came back to get him and he headed to the bathroom to start his bath.

He sank into the hot water with a sigh of relief, letting the hot water drain away the tension in his muscles. Steam spiraled toward the ceiling in lazy loops. Hopefully this would be an infrequent occurrence in the future. From what Lia had said about her call with the Rockbells, it _should_ be. While flare-ups didn’t often occur this late in the rehab, it wasn’t unheard-of, and he might have to deal with this for the rest of his life. Edward didn’t mind. It was a small price to pay for the rapidly-increasing mobility he’d enjoyed over the past two years.

The bath had cooled slightly when the quiet was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Edward? You haven’t fallen asleep in there, have you?”

Edward pushed himself up in the tub. “No, Mom!”

“If you’re feeling up to it, I’m getting dinner started.”

“I’ll be right down!”

* * *

Edward made it down the stairs with only a slight limp. Mom pointed to a chair in the breakfast nook; Edward sat down obediently. “You had a rough day?” she asked.

Ed rubbed his temples with his left hand. “Kind of. Apparently they happen sometimes, even for people who’ve had automail for years.”

Maria Brosh, nee Ross, gave him a quick squeeze from the side. “And we’ll be ready for them when they do happen,” she reassured him, smiling. “Anything interesting happen in school lately?”

Edward grimaced. “We’re still working on that same paper about the Eastern conflicts. The only really good sources are from old copies of the Central Times, but those are sort of… serialized, play-by-play? It’ll be hard to bring in all the points I need to make for the assignment with that many sources.”

Mom pushed his good shoulder gently. “Maybe you’ll write the definitive history of the Eastern annexation one day,” she teased.

Edward sighed, staring at the far wall. “Maybe. I get the feeling that there was a lot that was just… suppressed. That didn’t make it to the newspapers at all.”

“Edward… remember that censorship is nothing new,” Mom said softly. “Just don’t get yourself killed looking for the truth, all right?”

The Truth…

Edward gave a convulsive shudder, feeling the hairs rise on the back of his neck, a chilly hand pressed between his shoulder blades.

“Ed? Are you all right?” Mom set down the spoon and walked over to him, looking intently in his eyes.

Ed pulled in a shuddering breath. “I think so. I think I understand what they mean when they talk about people walking over your grave now.”

“Do you need a blanket?” Mom asked.

Edward shook his head. “How was your work?”

Mom smiled slightly, chopping steadily at the onions. “Oh, same old. I’m just glad they aren’t transferring us around like they did when you were little.”

“I barely remember that now,” Edward commented. “If you could pick anywhere other than Central to live, where would you like to go?”

“South, but not as far south as South City,” Mom answered promptly. “It’s more temperate there, but not too hot.” She smiled. It made her even prettier. “It would be nice not to have to worry so much about your automail over the winter.”

“Mo-om,” Edward protested.

They discussed the weather, Edward’s younger siblings’ grades, and the comings and goings of Central life. Finally they reached a lull in the conversation.

Edward stared at his mismatched hands, opening and closing the fingers of his automail. “I had a really weird dream this morning. Before the morphine. I think I was going somewhere on a train, but it was a really uncomfortable ride, and I got the feeling I didn’t get a choice about going. I think it was winter, but in the dream it was my birthday, and there was someone else there too…”

“It must’ve been vivid to stay in your mind like that,” Mom commented.

“Hmm,” Edward agreed. “It wasn’t quite like dream logic, either. It wasn’t like adding two and two and getting five, but it makes sense in the dream. I was just missing a lot of context.”

Mom took the time to choose her words carefully. “You know, if you have more dreams and they bother you, you can always come to me and Denny, Ed.”

Edward nodded. “I know.”

The quiet was shattered as Kaitlyn, eleven years old and the image of her father, came charging in and practically jumped into Ed’s lap, trying to steal his sweater. “Hey! I need that!” Edward protested, trying to shove her off while causing a minimum of injury.

Kaitlyn caught him around his waist and squeezed. “I caught you! You’re my prisoner now!”

Edward rolled his eyes at the ceiling as Kaitlyn attempted to hug him into surrender. “Oh no. Whatever shall I do.”

Alex dashed in. “Ed! I made notes for you!” He waved them in midair, tripped over his own feet and accidentally scattered them all over the kitchen.

Mom sighed, helping Alex up and picking up his pile of papers. “And this is why we don’t run in the house, sweetheart.”


	3. Study Guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed meets with the Tringhams to tutor them in alchemy. His own research takes a twist.

The Tringhams were waiting for him at the normal table when Edward arrived at the library, still limping slightly after yesterday’s flare-up. “Well?”

Russell stared at the tabletop, one hand shoved through his bangs. Fletcher was messing with a pen and notebook. “I think we have it,” the younger brother said. “All is the world, and one is the individual?” He paused, watching Ed for a reaction, hoping that he would either confirm or deny it. Ed merely raised his eyebrows as if to say “go on.”

“Energy flows in a circle,” Fletcher continued hesitantly, “not just in alchemy, but in the food chain and the universe in general. We’re made of the same matter stars are… matter that _was_ stars before—but without the individuals, the all wouldn’t exist.”

Edward nodded. “Alchemy is understanding the natural flow of the universe and applying it in the moment to a specific object. While it’s true that if any of us died the all would remain, the corollary is also true—that one must dig in their heels and assert their will to live and make changes within the flow. That’s the essence of alchemy.”

“So a politician running against the zeitgeist—would they also be considered an alchemist by that definition?” Russell challenged.

Edward smiled. Game on. “Not in the technical sense. It’s knowledge and ability that separate alchemists from those who choose to change their world, and some knowledgeable and alchemists probably just go along with whatever’s happening at the moment. Philosophically it’s all the same thing, as long as the politician is not pushing for something counter to nature.”

“Define ‘counter to nature.’” That was Russell for you—always playing devil’s advocate, pushing concepts to the absolute conclusion to search out the flaws in Edward’s reasoning. It made lessons so much more fun.

“Well, mass murder, for one thing,” Edward said. “I’d argue that that was counter to nature. Within alchemy… the one example I can think of off the top of my head would be human transmutation.” This time, Russell didn’t ask, but Ed went on anyway. “I don’t think it’s possible to create living things with alchemy… you and Fletcher always start with a seed, don’t you? Besides, humans are a body and a soul—what could be equivalent to that? How would you even call back a soul that’s passed on?”

Fletcher’s expression was deeply uncomfortable. “Would alchemy on souls that haven’t passed on be possible?”

“Theoretically, but it would be _astronomically_ unethical.” Edward said.

Russell shifted in his chair. “Let’s stop talking about this before we get arrested.”

“How did you even come up with the one is all, all is one thing anyway?” Fletcher asked. “It wasn’t in any of the reference books we tried.”

“Similar concepts are,” Edward pointed out. “I probably came up with it or ran across it when I was really young, because I don’t remember how I reached that conclusion.”

“It’s certainly… unique,” Fletcher commented dubiously.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Edward observed, turning toward Russell.

“Fletcher did all the work, figuring out the riddle,” Russell said dejectedly.

Ed slapped the _Compendium of the Elements_ down on the table. “Why do you think I assigned it to both of you? You have different strengths that compliment each other. Fletcher’s got insight and imagination and Russel, you question your conclusions so every step of reasoning is sound… except when you’re too emotionally involved in your research. Then you tend to forge ahead and not see the red flags, which is why you need Fletcher.”

“What about you? Neither of your siblings is interested in alchemy,” Russell pointed out.

“I’m tutoring you two, aren’t I?” Edward countered. “There’s a lot of connections I just didn’t make until I started tutoring you. You force me to think differently than I usually would—you’re both a lot more adept with biological and organic alchemy, while I’m more experienced with the inorganic fields. And your minds work differently than mine.”

“Hmm,” Russell said, not convinced. “Anyway, I was hoping to start in on this.” He shoved a thick tome across the table.

“_Basis of Complex Transmutation of Matter_—where did you buy this? My dad bought me a copy for my birthday one year, but when I started analyzing the theories in it I was hard pressed to find one that wasn’t riddled with subtle errors or just flat-out _wrong_. All right. New assignment. Chapter by chapter, I want you to identify the errors in this book and consider ways to update and adapt the theories proposed.”

Silence fell as the Tringham brothers got to work on their new assignment, while Edward tried to wrangle his essay assignment into some form of order. At this point, he just had to find a good place to stop, since he knew he was not likely to ever be really satisfied with it. Just pick a draft and stop there, and stop worrying about the grade. He had to pick his battles. There would be other assignments.

His hand was cramping by now. Edward got up, stretched, working the fingers of his spasming left hand. As for the assignment, this was as good as he was likely to get. He picked up the scattered papers, shuffling them into his bag—he’d make the noted edits on the typewriter later, since he was the only one able to read his handwriting.

That was the odd thing—despite having all these years to polish his penmanship, it had never seemed to improve—almost as if his preferred hand was the one that he’d been born without, even though that was sheer nonsense.

“I’m going to go to the reference section,” he informed the Tringhams. “I’ll be there if you need me.”

“Okay,” Fletcher chirped, still focused on the book.

Edward stretched again before heading to the room with the back issues of the Central Times. Pulling the old poetry book out of his pocket, he looked up the next article on the list. “Rebellion in the East Put Down After Four Years Fighting.” There were a few lines about the capture of two of the leaders in the rebellion, the bloody annihilation of most of their men—only a few lived and were sent to Central Prison. A class tour had taken them to visit the old prison building—now a museum. Edward shuddered at the thought of the rough stone building, now much better lit than it had been, cold and drafty.

As always, Edward wrote down a few lines of particulars in the back of his notebook. He turned to the next article—the last one on the list.

“Sixteen-Year-Old Rebel Leader Edward Elric Dies In Prison.”

_What._

The other Edward had been barely older than him, had fought in a rebellion, and was sent to prison among adults—well. The article dated to the winter of 1661. Sixteen was probably considered adulthood, back then.

Or not.

Edward cautiously shifted the old newspaper to get a better look at the article. It was actually illustrated—a hand sketch that had been converted to lithograph, then printed—

Oh, _Truth_.

His own face—cold, lean, _blank_—stared back at him from the crumbling, brown paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Russel did pick up his habit of running his hand through his bangs from Ed.


	4. Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between crises, life continues.

In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have run.

Edward’s leg ached bitingly and he was limping, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, just grateful that he _could_ run. The same copy of the newspaper, which he’d borrowed from Miss Gracia, was tucked carefully in his bag, rolled in muslin to preserve it. It was late—8 p.m. Fortunately officers rarely worked overnight, except in the case of a crisis.

“Mom? Dad?” Edward called, limping into the kitchen. His leg ached both at the port and all the way down to the ankle, despite the fact that he wasn’t supposed to really feel much in the automail itself. Alex and Kaitlyn looked up at him curiously.

“Edward? What’s wrong?” Mom asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Ed swallowed. “May I talk to you and Dad in private?” he asked.

“What did you do now?” Kaitlyn asked, but Edward was in no mood for friendly teasing. He stood as if on the edge of his seat, waiting for Mom and Dad to say either “yes” or “no.”

“Of course,” Dad said. “Alex, Kaitlyn, go upstairs. Now. We might be able to tell you two later,” he added placatingly as Kaitlyn opened her mouth to protest, “but right now we need you to respect your brother’s privacy.” Alex nodded and took Kaitlyn’s hand, pulling his reluctant older sister toward the stairs.

Edward waited until he heard their bedroom doors close. He pulled the muslin roll out of his bag and began to unroll it on the kitchen table.

“What _is_ that?” Mom asked. Ed remained quiet as he unfolded the front section of the newspaper—the page with the sketch. He held it up.

Dad gasped. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

“No,” Edward said softly. “We look practically identical.” He swallowed. “We wouldn’t happen to have an Elric anywhere in our family tree, would we?”

“Not that I can remember,” Dad said.

“My grandparents were Drachman immigrants,” Mom added quietly. “This might explain why you look different from us.”

Edward swallowed. Something hovered like an itch at the back of his skull. Something to do with alchemy, maybe? “The morning of my bad day, I had a dream about being on a really old coach… there was a woman there too. I think she was my mentor? It was strange.”

“You think you dreamed about when this other Edward was being taken back to Central,” Dad said. Edward nodded. “It could be just a coincidence. People have odd dreams all the time.”

Edward grimaced. “I’m not sure…”

Dad squeezed his shoulder. “Whatever’s going on… you won’t have to face it alone, Ed.”

Mom nodded. Edward swallowed again. “Okay.” Mom held her arms out for a hug; Edward accepted.

Kaitlyn peeked in. “Are you guys done yet?”

Edward swallowed his concerns and disquiet. He smiled at her. “I found out I look a lot like one of the people involved in the Eastern Rebellion of 1661, that’s all.”

Kaitlyn smirked. “You freaked out, didn’t you? Typical. Geez, _someone_ in this family has to keep a level head.” Dad shook his head. Edward sighed.

Alex stared at the newspaper on the table. “He _does_ really look like you. Are we related?”

Ed shrugged. “If you can sit still in the library, we can research it.”

Alex made a face, bouncing on his toes. “You wouldn’t notice if the house was on fire if you were reading,” he accused.

“Why do you always tell me to hurry up when I’m reading to you, then?”

Alex shrugged. “You take so _long_.”

Kaitlyn snickered, putting her chin on the top of Edward’s head and draping her arms over his shoulders. “What’s for dinner?”

* * *

The now-familiar doorbell jingled as Edward entered Mrs. Hughes’ sanctum. She leaned out from behind a shelf, smiling. “Hello again, Edward. Did you solve the puzzle?”

“Thanks for loaning me the copy of the newspaper,” Edward said, handing back the roll of muslin. “I don’t really blame the library for not letting their copies leave the building.”

“It’s not an issue. They’re practically impossible to sell anyway, and you seemed pretty distraught yesterday.” Mrs. Hughes leaned on a bookshelf. “So, what did you find?”

“Whoever’s story this was, it didn’t have a happy ending,” Edward said. “Look at the front page.”

Heading to the counter, Mrs. Hughes unrolled the bundle and did a double-take, looking between the sketch and Edward. “Are you sure you’re not related to him somehow?”

Edward shrugged. “Not sure.”

Mrs. Hughes turned back to the paper. “Died in December 1661 in prison during a smallpox outbreak… I’m sorry, Edward. It must have been a shock to read that.”

“Well… I kind of knew how the story would end anyway,” Edward said, shrugging. “There really was only one way it could end.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Mrs. Hughes asked.

Edward shrugged.

“How about some tea?” Mrs. Hughes asked. “I can close up the shop a bit early today.”

“Are you sure?” Edward asked.

Mrs. Hughes smiled and nodded. “You’ve been around enough to be a friend, Ed. I’ve been meaning to ask if you were interested in helping out around the shop after school.”

Ed jumped. “Really? Are you sure?”

“It would give me more time to spend with my daughter.”

Edward shifted awkwardly and looked down. “…I’ll have to think about it.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Hughes said, locking the case with the first editions and picking up her purse. “Shall we?”

Edward nodded. Mrs. Hughes led him out of the shop and locked the door behind them, then led him along a pleasant avenue lined with trees toward the heart of Central.

“How long have you lived in Central, Edward?”

Ed hurried to keep up with her. “Since I was three or four… No, I must’ve been three. Mom transferred back here and Dad followed a few months later. About a year after that, Mom had Kaitlyn.”

“So your parents are in the military?” Mrs. Hughes asked. “Both of them? That sounds a bit rough.”

Edward shrugged. “It just means long hours, little thanks, and not being able to work together any more since they’re married, Dad says.”

Mrs. Hughes smiled. “It does that. My husband is in Investigations.” She opened the door of an apartment building and led Edward up the stairs, opening the door of one of the apartments. “Good afternoon, Sheska. How did it go?”

The only warning Ed got was a scream of “_Daddy!!!_” before a small child slammed into his knees at high velocity. Somehow he managed to keep his balance. Still clutching his legs, the little girl stared up at him and pouted. “_You aren’t Daddy_,” she said.

Mrs. Hughes sighed. “Elicia, this is Edward. He’s a regular at the bookshop.”

“Not Daddy,” Elicia said and began to sob.

“It’s okay. I have siblings,” Ed told Mrs. Hughes, patting Elicia cautiously on the back.

“Elicia, we’re going to have tea,” Mrs. Hughes said.

Elicia wiped her face on Edward’s trousers and stared up at her mother. “Really?”

“Yes, really. I just need to get it ready.”

Elicia cheered and grabbed Ed by his hand, not seeming to mind that it was hard and cold, and tugged him toward her playroom.

Once Edward was seated between two large, overstuffed bears, Elicia ran around him, squealing with delight and stroking his hair. “Pretty,” she exclaimed.

Edward rubbed the back of his head. “You think so?”

Elicia nodded enthusiastically in his peripheral vision. “Soft,” she told him. “Nice.” She tugged at his bangs, but not hard enough to hurt. “Not long enough,” she scowled accusingly at him.

“So I should grow it out?” Edward asked.

Elicia nodded again and began to introduce Edward to her stuffed animals. “That’s Mr. Jingles, n’ Felty, n’ Rae-Rae—”

“Elicia! Tea is ready!” Mrs. Hughes called.

“Yay!” Elicia cheered. “Carry me,” she ordered Ed.

Edward picked her up and carried her back toward the living room. She was warm—it had been a while since Alex had been this small, and Kaitlyn was already catching up to him in height even though he was four years older.

Sheska, the mousy-haired girl with glasses, waved at him slightly, then frowned. “Wait, don’t I know you from somewhere?”

Edward froze, teacup halfway to his mouth. “Huh?”

“You’re the boy who fell asleep in the public section of the first branch!” Sheska announced to the world at large. “I wish I’d introduced myself then, your dedication to literature is admirable!”

Edward set his teacup down, flushing. “I… hoped everyone had forgotten about that.”

Sheska cocked her head to one side, looking at him. “Did I do it again?”

“Maybe a little bit,” Mrs. Hughes said gently. Edward took a sip of his tea.

“What were you researching? I got off work just as your parents came to pick you up,” Sheska said.

“Alchemy,” Edward said. “Even if most of the collection is off-limits to the public, the first branch’s resources are still the best.”

“You’re an alchemist?” Sheska asked. Edward nodded. “How did you get into alchemy?”

“I’ve just… always been interested in it, I guess,” Edward said. “I think when I was really little I doodled something that looked vaguely like a transmutation circle in a drawing and Dad showed it to Nash Tringham, an alchemist who used to live here. Mr. Tringham started teaching me some things, just so I wouldn’t blow up the house by accident, and when he left Central I went on to research things on my own.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t been offered a scholarship or apprenticeship or something,” Mrs. Hughes commented.

“I have, but I’m just not interested in that sort of thing right now. Maybe when I’m older.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Mrs. Hughes said. “There’s no point in trying to grow up too fast.”

“What’s _al_-chem-me?” Elicia asked.

“It’s the science of understanding, deconstructing, and reconstructing matter,” Edward told her. Elicia just stared at him, confused. “Um… Mrs. Hughes, do you have something I can transmute? Preferably something cheap, like maybe old glasses or dishware? I’m also going to need a decent-sized sheet of paper.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Hughes got up, found a sheet of writing paper, and while Edward was working out his transmutation circle pulled a set of old, cracked glasses from a cabinet.

Edward set the glasses on his circle, activating it briefly to perform the understanding step. He frowned. “The chemical balance is off. No wonder these cracked… Do you have some boron or maybe boric acid in the house? It’s commonly used in laundry detergents…”

“I think so.” Mrs. Hughes left the room while Edward adjusted his constructional formula. Elicia watched, curious. Mrs. Hughes came back with a jar of boron; Edward checked the label carefully before pouring out a little into the transmutation circle. He handed the jar back and placed both hands on the circle, activating it.

Elicia gave a little shriek as electricity crackled in the air, the smell of ozone sharp and sweet. Edward focused on the new form of the glass, then let the remaining energy disperse. A little delicately-shaped glass teapot, cups, spoons and saucers stood on the transmutation circle.

Elicia gasped, then began to laugh and clap her hands. “Magic! Magic!”

“It’s not magic,” Edward told her. “It’s science. It adheres to the laws of nature and it takes a lot of work and mathematics to perform properly.”

“Magic! Magic! Big brother is magic!” Elicia continued to chant.

Mrs. Hughes laughed. “I’m afraid she’s a bit too young to understand the difference, Edward.”

Edward sighed, picking up the ball of waste glass he’d shuffled excess lime, soda and other impurities into and lobbing it into the trash. “All right. For now, magic it is. Listen, Elicia. When you play with that tea set, you have to get your mother’s or Sheska’s permission first, and don’t be too rough. I made it as sturdy as I could, but glass still breaks if you’re too rough with it.”

Elicia nodded, twirling and chanting “Magic! Magic!”

Edward leaned back in his chair. “Silicate transmutation isn’t even my specialty. Carbon and metals are where my strengths lie. Glass is tricky because it breaks so easy.”

“Your knowledge of chemistry is still very impressive,” Sheska said.

Edward shrugged. “I have a very good memory.” He picked up his cup and finished his tea.

* * *

Edward closed the front door behind him, shedding his coat and setting down his book bag while he hung it up. Picking up his books, he climbed the stairs to the first floor of the house, heading to his room to study.

“Ed! You’re home!” Dad called.

Ed paused for a moment. “Yeah, I’m just going to—” He made eye contact with Winry Rockbell, who was sitting on the couch. “Oh.”

“Hi,” Winry said, waving. “When your aunt called I thought I might as well visit and check the functions of your automail now, rather than wait a month—just in case it was more than a simple flare-up.”

“Oh,” Edward said, eloquently. A vague image flashed across his mind—Winry—or at least it looked like her—laughing, wearing the same old-fashioned clothing from his dream. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Do you… is it all right if we do it here?” The living room was safe—neutral ground. Doing it anywhere else—even if there was no privacy from younger siblings—would just make him too nervous.

Winry nodded. “Yes, we can do it here.”

Ed set down his books, sat down, and began to unbutton his shirt. The not-sensation of fabric sliding over metal was still odd, but not in a bad way. He set the shirt aside. Winry probed the scar tissue around the port. “There doesn’t seem to be any irritation or swelling. Can you feel this?”

Edward frowned slightly. “Sort of. I can feel it, but it’s not that distinct.”

“That’s normal. Scar tissue tends to not have that much sensation anyway.”

“Okay.”

Winry helped him roll up his pant cuff to check on the leg. “The knee looks a bit stiff. You’ve been oiling it after you bathe, right?”

“It’s been like that ever since I freaked out and ran home,” Edward mumbled. “I did try oiling it.”

“Well, let’s see,” Winry said, checking the port first. “It doesn’t look like you jarred anything loose.” She removed the shin plate. “Oh, it’s the joint itself. There’s a rough patch… I’d have to take the leg apart to get to it.”

“Where’s it at?” Edward asked.

Winry took his left hand and guided it through the wires. “Right there. Can you feel it?”

“Yeah. Give me a sec.”

Without thinking, the transmutation circle clear in his mind, Edward clapped his hands and touched the joint. There was a flash and crackle of alchemy and the rough metal smoothed out.

Everyone was staring. “What?”

“Edward,” Dad said quietly. “You just did alchemy without a circle.”


	5. Unsustainable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward confronts the Truth.

Edward froze. “I—what?”

“I thought that wasn’t possible?” Winry asked.

Edward shook his head. “No, it shouldn’t be—”

“But we all saw it,” Winry pointed out.

Tentatively, Edward pressed his palms together. Dad put a hand on his shoulder. “Take a deep breath. Don’t stress out about it.”

Edward nodded slowly. Winry oiled the knee joint and replaced the plating. “You’ll be good for another six months or so now.” She patted Edward’s right knee. “Whatever that was, it came in handy. We didn’t have to detach the leg and take it apart.”

Edward felt his face heat up at the praise, particularly coming from Winry. She was kind, and she’d given him more freedom than he’d ever had before. While she had teased him gently about his preoccupation with all things alchemy-related, it had never been belittling. She was just… amazing.

Winry stood up. “Anyway, I should probably go find a place to stay.”

“You came to check on Ed. The least we can do is put you up for the night,” Dad said. “It’ll be fine. We’ll all shuffle around and find room.”

* * *

Everything was a blank white. There was just—nothing.

It seemed to take forever for Edward to become aware of it, but once he did he couldn’t unsee it. Just a huge expanse of white. It struck Edward that this was probably the worst nightmare he had ever had. Panic rose like the white noise in the white void and everything was white, it was too bright and it was _wrong_—

“Hello again, Edward Elric.”

“Why are you calling me that?” Edward called out, turning around to try to see who had called him. “I’m not Edward Elric. I’m Edward Brosh!”

“But your soul is the same.” Edward spun around to face whoever or whatever had called him. A figure just as blank and pale as the void they stood in hovered behind him. “I would know. We are old friends after all, you and I.”

“Who are you?” Edward demanded, defensively holding his arm in front of his chest.

“I’ve told you. You might call me the world, the universe, god, Truth, One, All. You, Edward Elric, know me better than most. Turn around.”

Edward turned, not of his own volition. He had no say in the matter.

Behind him stood a massive door hewn from black stone with the kabbalah—the tree of life—carved on it. Suddenly, Edward knew he had seen it before.

“I see you recognize it.” the figure said.

“Why are you doing this?” Edward whispered.

“It’s my job to punish the arrogant,” Truth said. “I can’t meddle in the material world. I know you, Edward Elric. You won’t abandon the innocent to tyranny or death.”

“How can you still know that after what I’ve seen and done?”

It felt like there was another person in his body, tugging at the edges of his mind, speaking through his lips. Truth only grinned wider. “There’s the old Edward I knew so well. What do you think you are, old friend? Even when you were dying, you never gave up.”

“Go to hell.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“I already lived my hell. Leave me out of this.”

He was a spectator, caught between two immense forces—no, the theoretical unstoppable force and immovable object. He closed his eyes, watching fire and desolation flash by, watching friends die, watching his not-self kill again and again.

“Stop posturing, Elric,” Truth said.

“I’m sorry,” the other Edward whispered so low that only they could hear. “I’m afraid we were never going to have an easy life.”

* * *

Edward shifted the strap of his book bag higher on his shoulder. He couldn’t carry it over his right shoulder—the lack of sensation meant he always felt like it was sliding off. At the same time, it was starting to hurt.

Unsustainable.

Whatever was happening to him, he hoped it would just _stop_, that it wasn’t another thing (like the feverish days after the surgery) that he’d just have to ride out. He hadn’t told Mom and Dad about this dream; he’d woken up, turned onto his side, and cried silently into his pillow.

Crying like that felt all too familiar.

Afterwards, Edward had gotten up and washed his face to hide that he had been crying. How was he supposed to explain this to Mom and Dad? He’d thought about it from all angles but it was still inexplicable.

Someone seized his shoulder and dragged him backward into an alley. Edward let out a startled yelp but went silent as something sharp pricked his back.

“Just stay quiet, kid,” a voice whispered. “Don’t make any sudden moves and you’ll be fine.”

_I’m not going to die again. Not like this._

Edward twisted suddenly. The knife caught in his coat, pulling his attacker off-balance. Edward seized the man’s arm, twisting viciously and kicking him in the knees. The man hit the ground hard; the knife clattered on the cobblestones.

“You little—” The mugger charged him, knocking Edward back. The back of his skull smacked into the pavement. Something cut into him, red hot. There was no time to think.

Edward clapped his hands and touched the pavement, sending spikes hurtling at his attacker. He rolled out of the way, transmuting tethers from the cement that tangled around the man, immobilizing him.

Edward picked up his book bag and walked out of the alley, feeling a little off-balance.

“Kid, are you all right? You’re bleeding!”

Edward looked down at himself. Blood was smeared all across the front of his coat. The point of origin appeared to be a tear in the left sleeve, damp and dark.

A hand supported him, against the small of his back; another gripped his automail arm. “Here. Sit down. Breathe.” Kind green eyes stared at him from behind rectangular lenses. “Were you attacked?”

“A man—in the alley—”

“Someone call the police,” the man ordered. “My name is Maes. What’s yours?”

“Edward.”

“Keep breathing, Edward. Steady. Now, can you tell me where you’re injured?”

“Arm. I think.”

“Anywhere else?”

“I don’t know.”

Maes pulled Edward’s jacket open to check for any other injuries. He tugged off his own coat and tied it tightly around Edward’s arm. Edward cried out in surprise. His arm had been throbbing all along, but somehow he hadn’t noticed it until now.

“Breathe with me,” Maes told him.

* * *

The coughing and vomiting were getting worse. He was both coughing up and throwing up blood—there was nothing else left—but it didn’t stop.

He could see the truth in Riza’s eyes. He wasn’t going to get better.

In the end, even Edward Elric couldn’t stand against the inevitable.

There was no pity in Hawkeye’s glance. Edward wouldn’t have wanted it. They’d lived a harsh life, but dying by the sword would still have been kinder.

She gripped his hand firmly—the one remaining hand after he couldn’t hold up the weight of his automail any more. “Not long now.”

In between coughs, he managed to gasp out, “Don’t let me go, mom—don’t let me—”

Silence.

* * *

The memories crowded thick and fast. Childhood, a younger brother with the same sunny hair and eyes. A beautiful woman with skin as dark as his and kind red eyes, her loss a raw wound that had left him scarred forever. A stern woman who taught him alchemy, both its benefits and its unforgiving nature; the mistake he had made in spite of that. Meeting Hawkeye, the invasion of their home, comrades in arms as they resisted the inexorable advance of the Amestrian border—

the transmutation circle going dark, an eye at its center opening with the growing sense of horror, the knowledge that he had been wrong—

the way the crossbow had clattered against the stones of his perch as he watched, unable to tear his eyes away from the man whose life his bolt had just snuffed out—

killing again and again, without choice—

hands tearing at his skin, taking him apart systematically, dragging him into the void.

_Hello again, alchemist._

“Why?” Edward moaned. “What did you do?”

_I stacked the deck in favor of victory. It’s not just your hubris I have to punish. It’s my game to play._

“It’s not a game for me.”

_I don’t suppose it would be_. The Cheshire grin on its face spread wider still. _Now you know the truth, Edward Elric_.

“You’re a bastard,” he stammered out. There was still blood on his chin.

_I suppose that makes all you arrogant, funny little humans the mongrels that birthed me, then._

The Portal groaned open, small black hands darting out and seizing him. He was dragged backwards again.

* * *

Maria had known for years that there was something different about Edward. It wasn’t just how intelligent he was—frighteningly so, teaching himself to read well by age three and already understanding advanced concepts in the sciences by the time he was five years old. It wasn’t how alchemy fascinated him, either. There was something strange about him—perhaps the fact that he looked like the boy who had fought in the Eastern resistance, not like herself or Denny—the way he sometimes seemed to already know things without being told. It was almost as if there was another Edward who no one ever saw hiding underneath the surface.

Maria didn’t realize that Edward had awakened until she realized that he was crying silently. “Ed?”

“I’m sorry,” Edward sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

Maria took his hand, squeezing it gently. “For what?”

Edward shook his head, closing his eyes.

Dread seeped up from the soles of Maria’s feet toward her heart. “Edward? What’s wrong?”

Edward bit his lip, eyes slipping away from her. “Mom… I don’t think I just _look_ like… the other Edward. I think I _am_ him.”

“What do you mean?” Maria asked. Her mouth was numb.

Edward swallowed. “I remember it. Maybe I’m delusional. But I did alchemy without a circle. No one should be able to _do_ that. I don’t think psychosis could cause it.”

Maria sighed. “There’s a flaw in that logic somewhere.”

“I don’t know how to convince you…” Edward bit his lip.

Maria reached for his hand. “There’s no reason for you to make up something that would trouble you this much.” She helped him sit up in the hospital bed and pulled him close.

* * *

Amestris was a nation soaked in blood.

_True._

The guilty lurked among the innocent, laughing at justice’s attempts to reach them without harming the people around them.

_True._

There was more going on than he could see on the surface.

_True_. Truth themself had confirmed as much.

So what choice did he have but to dive in, even if the act would cover him in the same corruption he would ultimately have to destroy?

_After all_, Truth whispered, _you’ve done it before._


	6. Examination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life changes happen. Maybe Ed should have thought this through more.

Edward glanced upward at the Amestrian dragon on the flag one last time, shifted his satchel higher on his shoulder, and walked resolutely forward. Straight into the extended arm of one of the soldiers on guard duty.

“Where do you think you’re off to?” the man asked, amiably enough.

“I’m here to take the state alchemist exam,” Edward said, ringing loud and clear, bolder than he felt. Boldness was an illusion. Underneath lay determination and a will too strong for fear to master.

The sentry eyed him, not unkindly. “Go home, kid.”

A hand landed heavily on Edward’s automail shoulder. “Let him pass, Sergeant,” a deep voice said.

The sentry snapped to attention. “Fuhrer Bradley, sir!”

Edward twisted to see his benefactor. A chill ran up his spine as he took in the eyepatch. “Sir?” Edward stammered.

The Fuhrer smiled genially. “Do your best, young man.” He lifted his hand from Edward’s shoulder, allowing him to proceed.

“Yes, sir,” Edward said, subdued. Somehow, he managed to make it up the steps.

The Fuhrer should not notice him, should have no reason to interact with him. He was intimidating not least of all because of his office or his decorations, but because he simply should _not_ take notice of Edward. Was King Bradley mocking him, certain of Edward’s inevitable failure, allowing him to take the exam for his own amusement—or worse, to teach him a lesson?

No.

Edward would _not_ fail. He would not allow himself to do so.

He followed the signs and the stream of other alchemists through the halls and into the examination room.

Someone grabbed his automail, jarring it all the way to his shoulder. If it hadn’t been for that, he wouldn’t have noticed.

Edward hated the way he had to look up to see who had grabbed him. “This isn’t elementary school,” the man—young, probably just out of college—laughed. “Isn’t that where you should be right now, kid?”

Edward wrenched his arm away, keeping his eyes front, ignoring the mocking laughter. He found an empty seat in the examination hall and sat down. Fortunately, his immediate neighbors did little more than shoot vaguely concerned glances at him and then leave him alone.

Edward was glad he had so much practice writing with his left hand, even if his penmanship was terrible. He only hoped it would be legible enough for him to pass the written exams. His hand was cramping by the time time was called, and he hadn’t even made it to the last question.

The practical assessment came next. Edward waited his turn, internally debating how much of an impression he wanted to make. He pressed his palms together. His left hand was shaking. Not something too large—the assessment was indoors, and besides bigger wasn’t always better—

It was his turn.

As he entered the hall, Edward glanced quickly around the room to take in the general air of the examiners. Among the proctors he caught a glimpse of black hair that prickled familiarity in the back of his mind. _Now is not the time. Focus._

Edward walked straight to the center of the room. Someone asked him a question, but he couldn’t remember what he’d been asked. Sparring with Master Izumi… the memory stood out sharp and clear…

Edward pressed his palms firmly together as if he’d done it millions of times before, willing fragments of metal out of the pavement, shaping them into a halberd, a spread-winged dragon forming the crosspieces. A murmur of surprise spread through the room.

“Not bad,” the Fuhrer called. “I assume you’d use this technique in combat?”

On instinct, Edward brought the halberd up to protect his head; the Fuhrer’s sword struck it with startling force. Edward stumbled back, shocked.

“Come, young man, don’t hesitate,” Bradley said, attacking again. Edward dodged. “You’re still young. I’m turning sixty this year. This shouldn’t be a problem for you.” The Fuhrer angled his sword in; Edward ducked and the saber glanced off his automail—light as a butterfly’s kiss but still enough to draw blood, had it been on his other side.

Edward gritted his teeth. He was _not_ going to give up.

Edward went on the offensive, parrying as many of the blows as he could, aiming several sharp blows at the older man. Bradley parried with ease. Ed quickly reversed his grip, aiming a sweeping blow with the blunt end of the haft.

Bradley seized the weapon and wrenched it away from Edward. “You still have a lot to learn, young man,” the Fuhrer said cordially. “Still, I like your spunk.”

* * *

The knock sounded through the house just after Edward got home, before anyone else was home (school tests were easy compared to the state alchemist exam; he’d wrapped up in record time.) Ed came to the door in the middle of pinning back his bangs. He should cut his hair, but it just seemed like such a small thing…

On the doorstep was a courier in a military uniform. “Is Edward Brosh home?”

Edward snapped the barrette he’d technically stolen from Kaitlyn closed with one hand and nodded. “That’s me.”

The courier opened his mouth and closed it again, stood for a moment, staring dubiously, then held a letter out to him. “I’ve been instructed to ensure that you have opened and read the letter, sir.” the courier said.

Edward fumbled a bit with the seal—the _Fuhrer’s_ seal—before managing to open the letter without tearing the paper inside.

_Edward Brosh:_

_Please report to Colonel Mustang at Central Headquarters tomorrow, June 1, 1914, at nine a.m. The receptionist will direct you._

_Lieutenant Colonel Arman Stohl, Secretary to the Fuhrer._

Edward looked up at the courier. “Thank you. I understand.”

The man saluted stiffly, turned on his heel, and left. Edward turned over the letter, then slid it into his sleeve as Aunt Lia approached, a confused expression on her face.

“Who was that, Edward?”

Edward kept his face blank, even as doubt crept in on him for the first time. How was he supposed to tell Mom and Dad about this?

* * *

“Mom… Dad… may I talk to you in private?”

Mom and Dad exchanged glances before Dad nodded. Alex and Kaitlyn were playing outside with Uncle Jace and Aunts Allie and Mari. Aunt Lia smiled slightly, got up and headed to the kitchen. Edward swallowed.

“What’s up?” Dad asked.

Edward set the letter on the coffee table. “I took the state alchemist exam last weekend.”

“I thought you weren’t interested in the state sponsorship,” Dad said. He was trying to keep his voice even, but there was some trepidation in it that he couldn’t completely hide.

“This is different.” Edward bit his lip, tasting blood. “There’s something wrong with this country. I must’ve been sent back for a _reason_.” Edward thought of the alchemical-mathematical proof he’d worked out to show the unlikelihood of anyone being born a second time with the same soul, but decided not to bring it up—Mom and Dad weren’t alchemists, and he’d written it carefully in code, in case it somehow found its way out of the house.

“Ed. You’re _fifteen_. You shouldn’t have to do this,” Mom said.

“If I don’t, then who will?” Ed replied. “No one else even cares. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t done this before.” _I did fight in a war, after all_.

“You shouldn’t have to jump right back into the thick of things,” Mom said softly. “If you were brought back for a purpose, who’s to say that that purpose wasn’t a normal childhood?”

Edward bit his lip.

“What if you have to relocate? What if they send you to war?” Mom continued. Edward looked at the floor. “You didn’t think this through, Ed. You just jumped right in.”

“What do you want me to say?” Edward asked, his voice gone thick.

Mom sighed. “I know you must believe that this is necessary and for the benefit of others, or you wouldn’t have done it. Even if this isn’t who you were in your previous life, though, we’re still your parents. It’s our job to worry about you.”

Edward blinked back tears. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re just… so driven. We don’t want you to waste your childhood,” Dad said. “But…” he sighed. “We won’t stop you, if you feel like this is something you have to do.”

Because that was all there was to it. He wasn’t just studious aspiring alchemist Edward Brosh. He was also former resistance fighter and genius alchemist Edward Elric, and he’d never backed down from doing the right thing in either of his lives.

But it had cost him…

“I’m sorry…” Edward apologized again. _I’m sorry I have to grow up this fast, sorry to make you worry, sorry I leave you out of your depth. I’m sorry._

“Breathe, Edward,” Dad said.

Mom took his hand, squeezing it gently. “_Don’t_ let it become you against the world. Find allies, people you can trust. More than just us. If you’re going to expose corruption and change this country, you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

* * *

Edward walked up the steps of Central Command at 8:50 a.m. and made his way to the receptionist’s desk. She looked up at him over the top of half-moon spectacles. “Are you lost, dear?” she asked kindly.

Not for the last time, Edward internally cursed his baby face. “No. I’m here to see Colonel Mustang.” He slid the letter out of his coat pocket and showed it to her.

The receptionist pushed her glasses up her nose, visibly shaken. “…I see. You must be Edward Brosh, then.”

Ed nodded. The receptionist’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down and Edward _knew_ he was about to become the center of office gossip until something else noteworthy or scandalous occurred. “Right, dear. You’re going to want to head straight up the steps until you reach the third floor, then follow the hall along. The Colonel is using the fifth office on the left. It’s tucked a bit into a corner—look for the corner and you won’t miss it.”

“Thank you.” Edward headed for the stairs, passing a few very confused soldiers. _Just walk like you know exactly where you’re going and hopefully, no one will stop you._

He found the office without a problem and knocked on the door. “Come,” a brisk, suave voice called. Something about it stirred a memory just beyond Edward’s reach, but he couldn’t think of where he’d heard it before. He ignored the sensation and pushed the door open.

Colonel Mustang was a startlingly young, handsome man of Xingese heritage, with black hair and dark eyes. Edward swallowed. “I received this letter—”

“I see,” Mustang said. “So you’re the Fullmetal Alchemist.” He held out his hand to shake; Edward took it. Mustang’s eyebrows flew upward. “The Fuhrer has a sense of humor, after all.”

“Sir?” Edward asked.

“Never mind. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Edward Brosh.” Mustang handed him a manila envelope and a small box. “Your letter of appointment, orders and the other necessary documents, and your pocket watch.”

Edward opened the folder, sliding out the documents as he stole a glance at Mustang, trying to read the man’s face. Colonel Roy Mustang’s command. East City. He looked up at Mustang, raising his eyebrows.

“You’ve ruffled a lot of feathers in Central, kid,” Mustang said. “I recommended that we move you out of Central for a while. Make you less threatening.” He raised an eyebrow, challenging. “Unless you’re really in over your head?”

Edward scowled. “I’m not giving up.” _You won’t make me regret my choice._

“Do as you will. As long as you fulfill your duties, I will have no complaints.” Mustang sniffed.

_Take a deep breath, Ed. It’s too early to decide you dislike him._

“Make your arrangements. Your appointment is effective a week from today.”


	7. Auditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed has trouble convincing Mustang to take him seriously.

Rubble crunched and clattered, sparks flying as it reformed into walls and spires and vicious spikes.

“Again.”

Edward wiped away sweat from his forehead to keep it from running into his eyes. His bangs were sticking to his face. His knees were trembling, but he clapped again and pressed his hands to the pavement, vision fuzzing out for a fraction of a second.

“Again.”

Edward gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to give up, much less complain. He transmuted the spikes again, twisting them in another direction.

Something hit his ankle stingingly. Ed toppled sideways onto the pavement. The world spun; Edward couldn’t stop the back of his head hitting the pavement, offering some relief and easing the weight on his neck.

“You demonstrated combat alchemy at your exam,” Mustang called out, his voice like a knell. “But in a real fight, you’d just fall apart.”

Ed’s shoulders ached, pins and needles running up and down his arms. Mustang stepped closer. “Do you need a medic?” Edward shook his head, not wanting to get up. Mustang came closer still.

Edward grabbed him by the ankle and let the leftover energy from the repeated transmutations jump to Mustang as static. It wasn’t enough to actually hurt the man—Edward couldn’t safely hold more than this in this state—but it was enough to cause a startling shock.

Mustang stumbled back. “Brat,” he growled. Somehow, Edward knew he didn’t mean it like Basque Gran would have, for instance. “That better not be all you’ve got.” Was that grudging respect growing in the colonel’s tone?

Better not treat it like it was. Better safe than sorry.

* * *

Edward hurried into the firing range, determined not to be late. He still hadn’t figured out how to work the alarm clock in his dorm room and had nearly overslept as a result.

He came to a skidding halt as he saw his instructor. Blond hair pulled back from her face, brown eyes, a severe expression. Edward swallowed back the memory—_relax, the tenser you are the more you’ll jerk the weapon around and that will throw off your aim_—and saluted her.

Riza Hawkeye nodded to him and led him toward the range. “Have you ever used a gun, Edward?”

“No.” Weaponry had advanced a great deal since the resistance. He didn’t want to try to explain the rebellion and everything that had come after it to his former mentor, particularly if she didn’t remember. She had given no sign that she did.

Besides, for the most part, the rebellion had not been able to afford guns.

Edward did his best not to zone out as Lieutenant Hawkeye described the rules of gun safety. The rifle in his hands felt strange and unbalanced. It would take time to adjust to it.

Hawkeye watched him closely, giving a few words to help him correct his position. “You’re used to bows, aren’t you.” It wasn’t really a question. Edward nodded. Hawkeye put a hand on his shoulder. “Keep going.”

* * *

Edward curled and uncurled his fingers as his hand started to spasm. He had to remind himself to unclench his jaw. Page after page of transmutation circles, each rendered inert with a slash through them, spilled off his desk in a haphazard pile.

“Show me the equation for a steel refinement array, removing other metallic impurities only.”

Edward fluttered his fingers momentarily in hopes of keeping them from trembling as he wrote. He picked up the pen and drew out his circle. “I am _not_ going to give up,” he told Mustang, without looking up from his paper. “Nothing you can do will make me go home.”

Back then, Edward hadn’t known Mustang as well as he had known Hawkeye. Mustang had been their supplier; he’d never been around for long, carrying arms and messages back and forth between their resistance cells. As far as Edward could remember, Mustang had never been captured.

In fact, Mustang had held something of a candle for Hawkeye…

“What do you call that?” Mustang asked, crossing his arms and gazing down at Edward’s transmutation circle.

Edward came out of his reverie and stared down at it. The equation was balanced and all the correct symbols for the specified transmutation were present. “A constructional equation, sir.”

“How does it work?” Mustang asked.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t realize you wanted me to copy a proof out of the textbook.” Maybe he shouldn’t have snipped at Mustang like that, but he was tired of this awkward dance around each other and just plain _tired_.

“If you’re smart, Major, you won’t let the brass hear you talk like that. If you aren’t smart, I’m afraid you won’t last long.” Mustang’s voice was like ice forcing cracks deep into stone, but Edward was a force of nature in his own right.

“What do you want me to say, sir?” he bit out. “I’m tired of this. I may be young, but I’m not some kid you can bully into going home. You like chess. I’m one of your pawns now; you can’t just take me off the board. You have to utilize me to the best of your ability.”

Mustang frowned at him. “Wait. How did you know I play chess?”

_You used to stop for a game with Breda._ He messed up, he messed up—“You play chess with General Grumman?” Edward guessed wildly. Come to think of it, it wasn’t _that_ far of a stretch. Mustang did meet with General Grumman one-on-one fairly often, and Grumman wasn’t an alchemist. Knowing that the previous Mustang had enjoyed chess, what else would they be doing?

Mustang’s face cleared somewhat. Apparently his chess games were no particular secret. “I wasn’t aware you were so well-acquainted with my personal life, Major.”

“I finished my paperwork late one day, went to turn it in to your office, and you weren’t there,” Edward fibbed. “I asked Lieutenant Hawkeye where you were.”

Mustang regarded him thoughtfully. “If we’re continuing the chess metaphor, Fullmetal… aren’t you selling yourself a bit short? You can do better than a pawn.” Edward stared at him; Mustang didn’t seem to notice. “I expect the rest of those reports on my desk by four,” the Colonel said, heading back to his office.

That was Friday afternoon.

On Monday, Edward was on a train to Leore.


	8. Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward's investigation in Leore only leads to more questions.

Leore—a once-bustling town on the edge of the desert. Presumably, there had been once been something there that would conceivably attract people to the area, but whatever it was had most likely been long gone for years.

As he got off the train, Edward updated his initial assessment of the town from “past its glory days” to “far from a ghost town, almost thriving.” No one seemed interested in travelling there, given the practically-empty train on the journey there, but the people were warm and welcoming, greeting Edward with a friendly wave.

In another world, he might not have thought twice about his orders—to determine if the reports about the high priest in Leore were true or false, and act on that knowledge accordingly.

Strange things were going on in Leore. Get to the bottom of it. Solve it.

It sounded easy enough, but things were rarely as easy as they _sounded_.

If the reports were true, what would happen to the town? Prophets, even benevolent ones, were at their safest far from Amestris. If the rumors were false, Edward would have to expose the priest for what he was. The awkward truth was simply that religion and the military didn’t mix.

_Either_ way, Leore was likely to suffer.

Edward stopped at a small street-facing counter for lunch. As he paid for his food, the shopkeeper asked, “Are you some kind of runaway?”

Edward blinked, stared blankly back at him. “No! What makes you think that?”

“We don’t see many people come out to Leore willingly,” the shopkeeper said. “Especially not any your age.”

“I’m a student—of alchemy. I’m looking for answers.” In Edward’s experience, people didn’t like the military getting all up in their business, regardless of whether it was actually their business or not.

“And you think you might find them out here?” the shopkeeper asked. “We don’t have much of a library, and there are no alchemists around here.”

Edward shrugged. “You never know.”

The shopkeeper stared at him thoughtfully. “Maybe we _can_ help. Rose, are you going up to the church?”

Edward turned to see who he was talking to; Rose was a girl with dark skin and dyed-pink bangs. “Yes. I’m making some offerings.”

“Would you mind showing him the way? Maybe you can pray for guidance.”

“Church?” Edward asked.

“Yes, the church of Leto,” Rose replied. “Haven’t you heard of it?”

Edward shook his head. The briefing had only contained the barest information on the Letoist cult; it had been more concerned with the miracle reports. “What about it?”

“The founder speaks for the sun god himself,” Rose said. “His miracles are proof that what he says is true. You _really_ aren’t from around here, are you?”

“Did I ever claim to be?”

All this time, they had been walking toward the center of town. A fountain played in the square; beyond it stood the church, a massive sandy-colored building built of tan stone.

“That doesn’t look like local stone,” Edward observed. “Must’ve cost a fortune to ship in.”

Rose only gave him an odd look that said, _wait and see_.

* * *

There was a crowd gathered in the square. It took a moment for Ed to recognize the sensation—electricity pricking off his skin, the smell of ozone. A crack and flash of red light, and flowers fell from midair.

Ed pushed through the crowd until he could see what was going on. An elderly man in dark robes and a stole held up a rose; with another crackle, it turned into crystal. Edward frowned. “That can’t be right.”

“What can’t?” Rose asked, struggling through the throng behind him.

“Where did all that extra mass come from? He’s going from carbon-based organic life to an inorganic silicate…”

“Huh?”

Ed glanced at the Leore native, a bit surprised that she still was there. “Huh, what?”

“Mass, organic, silicate?” Rose asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

“The transmutation response—ozone, ionization, plasma—” Ed took a deep breath. “The lightning. It’s not true electrical discharge, it’s the radical ionization of the air, generating a plasma path where excess energy can jump safely to the ground, which keeps it from grounding back into the alchemist’s body.”

“And you do something like this?” Rose asked. “You’re an alchemist?”

“It’s not dangerous if you know what you’re doing,” Edward told her. “Anyway. The transmutation response looks like what you’d normally see in standard alchemy, but you can’t make something out of nothing. You have to have something to work on. The law of equivalent exchange dictates that to create anything, something of equal value—equal mass and similar elements—must be sacrificed in exchange. What he’s doing—it’s impossible.”

“Which is why it’s called a miracle,” Rose put in dryly.

“Why would a miracle ionize the air?” Edward demanded, a bit too loudly. People were beginning to turn and stare. Ed bit his cheek, picked up his suitcase, and headed back into town.

* * *

“Colonel Roy Mustang.”

“This is Edward Brosh reporting in, sir. Something freakish is going on here… I want to take another day or so to investigate.”

“What kind of freakish?”

Ed swallowed. “The rumors seem to be true. Something that looks like alchemy but isn’t, and impossibilities masquerading as miracles. There’s something very wrong here. I… I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Some people thought sulfur was the scent of hell. Edward knew it to be something else.

“Very well, Fullmetal. I trust your judgement.” There was a click as the call disconnected, stark and final, and Edward was alone again—but then, he’d always been more or less alone. He was used to making the calls.

* * *

From the nave into a side door, and down a long hallway toward an office. No one stopped him.

Edward didn’t want to risk going in without being fully aware of the situation. An unlocked filing cabinet held the records of the members of the church. Nothing appeared to be out of order there—name, address, the day when they had become part of the congregation. Edward picked the lock on the file cabinet containing financial records. There was nothing incriminating there, either—records of donations and expenses that lined up neatly, although Cornello seemed to be a man of indulgent tastes, but that was hardly actionable and not even necessarily suspicious.

Edward closed the drawer and re-locked the cabinet. He went on exploring the church; his exploration led down, toward the crypts.

The church’s social hall was a separate building, Edward remembered, although on the same property, and the cemetery was outside. Why, in that case, would a church need crypts? It wasn’t even being used for storage.

The last door in the crypt led to a dark tunnel deep under the church. Edward held up his borrowed lantern carefully, not wanting to end up in complete blackness with no way to see the way back. The tunnel widened into a cavern with a still lake that stretched as far as the eye could see. Edward glanced down. Dead insects and strange, eyeless bloated fish floated belly-up on the surface of the water; the stench of death was sharp in the room.

Edward set the lamp down and walked to the wall, touching it. He closed his eyes, feeling the push and pull of subatomic forces, elements, compounds, the vibrations within the earth.

The poisoned water—acid, toxic—stretched only so far. There was space beyond.

Edward clapped, touching the wall. Above water, the wall hollowed out, stone spreading to form supports underwater and a narrow walkway with a handrail. Edward had to take a deep breath to steady himself once the transmutation was complete; his use of alchemy had sent a jolt of adrenaline to his system. It felt like something eager and hungry had woken deep inside him that demanded _more, more, more_. Ed wasn’t sure he wanted to try and satiate it. His use of alchemy felt _right_, but it also felt like what Edward imagined drugs must feel like—a deceptive high that would only demand more as time went on.

Cautiously, Edward touched the walkway he’d constructed to ensure that it was sturdy. No faults in its construction. He picked up the lantern and stepped out onto the walkway.

The underground lake did stretch quite a long way, but Ed kept going. There was something odd down here, something out of place—the compounds in the lake, for instance—and he had to know what it was. A sense of unease crawled up his spine and curled below his lungs, but he refused to go back.

_Something_ was wrong here, and Edward intended to find out what.

On the far side of the lake was a wall, but touching it, he knew it was only a few inches thick. Edward held the ring of the lantern between his teeth and clapped his hands, making an opening. He stepped cautiously through.

The tunnel was almost perfectly round and curved back away into inky blackness. Edward ventured a low call; by the echo, the tunnel was long, though he couldn’t say exactly how long. The uneasy feeling was stronger here.

Edward held the lantern up to the wall, examining for any signs of how the tunnel had been dug. There were no marks from a shovel or a pickaxe; despite the uniform shape of the tunnel, it appeared that the stones and rubble had been torn out of the walls in places.

Edward dived to the side as something sharp slashed a line of fire between his shoulder blades. He caught the lantern as carefully as he could with his automail hand, not wanting it to smash. Rolling, Edward scanned the tunnel behind him. There was no one there.

A low chuckle that turned Edward’s blood to ice water reverberated through the tunnel. “Hello, Fullmetal Alchemist.”

Edward held up the lantern, feeling something warm and wet soak the back of his coat and shirt. “Who are you? _Where_ are you?”

Instinctively, he jerked his head to the side as a shadow, sharp as a razor, lunged at him, opening a cut on his left cheek. “I’m here!” the voice laughed mockingly.

Edward brought his automail arm up to block; the shadow pinged off the metal, but not without leaving a deep gouge.

There were eyes in the shadows—an eye, tiny hands reaching for him—

With a choked sob, Edward scrambled back. The shadowy hands looped around his ankles. “No you don’t. Not before I get a good look at you.” The shadows tangled round him, growing up like noxious vines, forcing him upright, like a puppet.

“Hm. You look just like your father,” the creature said.

Edward laughed through chattering teeth. “That’s a first.”

“I think I’m starting to understand you now, Edward Brosh… or should I say, young Hohenheim.”

Edward went still. “_Who are you?_”

“I think we should be more curious about you. You apparently grew up in Central, right under our noses. We wouldn’t have expected of Hohenheim to father a child, much less leave him on the doorstep of a stranger.”

Edward said nothing. His mind was racing. Whatever this _thing_ was, it was about a hair away from threatening Mom and Dad and his siblings and aunts and uncles. He felt something moving across his cheek; it was dry, almost snakelike, but somehow it felt like a tongue, lapping at his blood. Edward shuddered convulsively.

“And he didn’t even warn you about us,” the creature chuckled. “He didn’t warn you about human transmutation.”

“Human trans—” Edward began, cut off by a hand at his throat.

“He _abandoned_ you.”

The words crawled on him like spreading ice. Edward closed his eyes, trying to fight back the encroaching migraine, and he was back in the cellar, on the worst day of his life, his one remaining hand fused to the ground on a circle he’d almost been shaking too much to draw, blood pouring from his open shoulder and leg, staring at the mangled, blackened corpse of his sin.

He didn’t realize he’d been released until he fell onto his side, gagging after vomiting up the nothing in his stomach.

“Come now, that’s just disgusting,” the monster said.

With a shriek, Edward launched himself at the creature, hurling the lantern at it. The monster howled in pain as kerosene splashed across the floor, flaring up painfully bright.

Edward kept his eyes closed as he lunged at the creature, transmuting the plating on his arm into a blade. The shadows appeared two-dimensional and all but impossible to cut, but it didn’t stop him trying. The monster was having better success with him—nicks and small cuts blossoming all around.

He was becoming light-headed, unsure if he’d dreamed all this. Edward leaned on the wall; his coat was in tatters, clothing stuck to his body with blood. His legs gave out; he slid down the wall.

“What a mess. One of the others will have to come from the surface to get you.”

Edward slid into a dark haze.

* * *

Once, the sensation of being dragged along by long, grasping fingers broke through. He couldn’t help groaning.

“Honestly,” a sultry voice said, “you’d better not be this much _trouble_ going forward.”

Edward couldn’t find the energy or the words to reply.

* * *

Voices. It was miserably hot. His mouth was parched, his head pounding.

Edward moved his arm to touch his head, but something in the crook of his elbow pinched and jabbed him. Someone grabbed his arm. “Don’t move! You’ll pull out the IV. We just pulled you out of hypovolemic shock.”

Ed tried to sit up, but the motion pulled sharply at the cuts along his torso and arms. “What did Rose just say? Lie still, you young idiot!”

Edward fell back on the bed with a groan. The room finally swam into focus.

“You’re lucky Rose visited the church when she did. You would have died from blood loss otherwise.” The woman in the white coat glared at him. She had dark eyes, bronzed skin, platinum blond hair. Edward thought he saw a flash of color from under the collar of the coat.

“What happened to you?” Rose demanded, leaning over him. “We found you in the aisle, almost cut to pieces!”

“I don’t remember,” Edward mumbled. It was only a half-lie. The incident was fuzzy in his memory, clouded by blood loss. What he did remember was completely unbelievable. It made him want to question his sanity, but he was convinced his memory was correct. Despite its unclarity, it had none of the bizarre logic of a nightmare.

“What happened to you? Your right arm is _gone_.” Rose whispered.

“I was born like this, believe it or not,” Edward replied stiffly.

“I’m sorry,” Rose mumbled, taking a step back.

Ed shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“That anyone would attack you in the church—”

Edward sighed. “Have you forgotten what country we live in?”

Awkward silence fell.

“Let me check your bandages,” the doctor said. “There are a lot of cuts, but none seem too deep.” With Rose’s help, she raised him into a sitting position. “That’s Rose Thomas. I’m Doctor Maya Lemain. What’s your name?”

“Edward Brosh,” Ed stammered out. He was silent as Doctor Lemain examined him.

The creature had talked about Hohenheim—who must have died about two hundred years ago. But the thing seemed to think that Hohenheim would somehow still be alive. It made no sense.

Doctor Lemain’s jacket shifted, exposing the fabric under her collar.

“Doctor Lemain, why are you here in the town of Leto’s followers if you serve Ishvala?”

The doctor went still. “How do you know?”

“Your sash is just slightly visible under your collar,” Edward pointed out. “Some of my mother’s relatives are Ishvalan. I grew up with some of the customs.”

Doctor Lemain resumed inspecting the bandages. “I see.”

“So you _do_ believe in a God, Edward, after all?” Rose asked.

Edward stared at the scratched and battered metal hand resting in his lap. “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“Rose.” Doctor Lemain interjected.

Edward swallowed. “It’s hard to believe in a god when you don’t even know if you believe in other people.”

“I am sorry for your loss, brother,” Doctor Lemain said in an accent of Ishvalan that was unfamiliar but still comprehensible enough to Ed.

“I mourn for yours also,” he replied in the same language, then, switching to Amestrian: “Doctor, I need to make a few calls.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed's thoughts on alchemy and the rush he gets from it is built on a flawed, but historically-accurate understanding of addiction. Is Ed addicted to alchemy use? Well. Maybe.
> 
> If you're interested in more of my thoughts on Ed, Ishval, and spirituality, please check out my series "As if these names could take our sins" for more meta. If you don't want to bother with that, feel free to leave questions in the comments. I've based the Ishvalan religion off of my outsider's understanding of Judaism--if anyone can help me improve my portrayal, please do so! I'm always open to constructive criticism.


	9. To Challenge the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward leaned his head against the glass of the window, pulling it shut to block out the hot, blasting wind and sand.
> 
> The philosopher’s stone. It was real.
> 
> And it was wrong.

“Where are you?” Dad asked through the static, his voice tinny and distorted by the connection.

“I’m in a little town in the far East—it’s called Leore. I wanted to let you and Mom know… I got in a bit of a fight. Before you ask, no, I was _not_ looking for one. I got caught off-guard.”

The silence said so much more than any words could have. Ed’s stomach twisted anxiously. “I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful.”

“Edward. We may not know what you’re going through,” Mom said. “And we know that whatever you’re doing is necessary. But please remember, too—we love you.”

“I know.” Ed swallowed. “I’m sorry. I love you too.”

Mom and Dad hung up, or maybe the call was just cut off by the bad connections. Edward hung up, then dialed Mustang’s office, glad he had memorized his confirmation code.

“Colonel Roy Mustang.”

“Sir, I’m afraid this is going to take longer than planned. I was attacked last night.”

“Do I need to send out backup, Fullmetal?” Mustang asked.

Edward flushed. “No, sir, you do not… I am presuming you had a reason for handing this lead off to me, rather than someone else.”

There was a brief pause. When Mustang spoke again, he sounded amused. “So you _do_ use that big brain of yours, Fullmetal.”

“Are you calling me big-headed, sir?” Edward snipped.

“I expect a full report on my desk in two weeks. Good luck, Edward.”

“You’ll get it, sir.”

Edward hung up the phone as Doctor Lemain came in. “Is Rose still here?” Ed asked. “There’s some things I was hoping she could tell me about the Church of Leto.”

Doctor Lemain closed the door behind her. “I have a few questions I want answered first, Edward,” she said, her voice deceptively calm. She tossed him the silver watch that marked him as a military dog. “Such as what _that_ is.” Ed’s blood ran cold.

“You _know_ what the state alchemists did to our people—and do not deny that they are yours. You speak the sacred language, even if your dialect is antiquated. You know what they _did_ to us—and yet you joined them.”

Edward took a deep breath. “This country is rotten to its core. I want to help—I want to stop them from ever killing so many so pointlessly again.”

Doctor Lemain exhaled, a tiny huff of air. “And if you can’t stop it—if they order _you_ to kill? What then?”

“I know it’s not ideal, but it’s the only thing I can do!” Edward shot back. “I have to do _something_!”

Doctor Lemain sat down on the cot across from him. “Edward. Who made you feel as if you have to be the one to save us? You can’t be any older than fourteen.”

“I’m fifteen,” Edward corrected defensively.

“You’re a _child_. It’s not your responsibility to fix the mistakes and transgressions of adults.” Doctor Lemain shook her head. “At first, I thought that you had stolen that watch. Now, I almost wish that you _had_.”

Edward stared at a point high on the far wall. “I don’t need anyone to approve of the path I’ve chosen.”

“Every time they fail you, I will be responsible as well,” Doctor Lemain said. “Because I have stood by and said nothing. Do not make me regret my decision.”

Edward inclined his head. “What are you doing here, doctor? You never gave me an answer.”

The doctor sighed, rising. “Someone has to heal those who inevitably get hurt when this all turns to ruin. I’m going to get you something to eat. Rose will be back later today.”

* * *

“Do you remember how the Church of Leto began?” Edward asked. “I understand it was relatively recent.”

Rose stared at him, some emotion he could not name in her face. “It was. Father Cornello just walked into town one day, built a church, went out to repair homes and restore wells with his miracles, and told all of us to care for each other and help each other. That if we followed the teachings of Leto, miraculous things would happen.”

“Even more miraculous than churches that weren’t built from local stone and wells that are no longer dry?”

Rose nodded fervently. “The dead will come back to us if we believe.”

The dusty dirt floor of the cellar, musty with age and damp. The sharp smell of white paint, only lately dried, still hanging in the air. A circle beautifully intricate and brilliantly simple—beautiful like a snake about to strike.

Ed closed his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he lied. “I hope there really is nothing more to this.”

Rose looked away, unsettled and unsatisfied.

* * *

The door to the meeting room opened with an ominous creak. Edward followed Rose and the acolytes inside. “This isn’t very well lit,” he commented. “How do you get anything done in here?”

“It was very kind of the founder to give you an interview,” the man in front of him said. “He’s a busy man.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on taking up much of his time,” Edward said.

The unmistakable sound of a gun cocking echoed in the room. Ed grabbed Rose and pushed her behind him as the man turned, pointing a pistol at him. Ed glared at him. “You _really_ don’t like outsiders here, do you?”

“Brother Clay, what are you doing?” Rose cried.

“He’s a military spy, here to attack the founder!” Clay replied.

Edward seized his gun hand, forcing it upward and twisting the wrist viciously. The weapon dropped from Clay’s nerveless fingers. Ed caught it and pistol-whipped the older man. He turned toward the remaining gob-stopped Letoists. “Anyone else?” he snarled.

The grip of the gun crunched under his grip, separating from the barrel. Edward dropped what was left of the gun; it hit the ground in a small pile of rubble.

The other acolytes decided on the better part of valor and ran, dropping their own guns. Rose gulped apprehensively.

“Welcome to Leore, Fullmetal Alchemist,” a new voice greeted. Edward turned to face the stairs on the far side of the room. A man stood there, smiling in a mockery of benignity. “Have you come to learn our teachings?”

“That’s funny. I thought I didn’t have a reputation to proceed me,” Edward snarked.

“You must be joking. The whole country is abuzz over the new State Alchemist. Only fifteen years old and already capable of feats his elders only dream of! Some of the rumors state that you’re some kind of new madman’s creation. If you’re being forced into this, you have no need to fear. Our order can give you freedom and sanctuary.”

“Sorry, but I reached this decision on my own. I’m much more interested in _your_ alchemy.”

The founder smiled. “What alchemy?”

“That’s what I thought at first. Alchemy can’t make something out of nothing. Even a power catalyst can’t do that. You can’t be using an amplifier, because none exist, and where are your circles? But why would a miracle cause the energy exchange and ionic discharge your ‘miracles’ do?”

There was a faintly glazed look in Cornello’s eyes, though a less attentive observer would have missed it. Edward was clearly talking over his head. “Why don’t you just tell me where you’re hiding the material?”

Cornello placed his hands together, transmuting a statue of Leto apparently out of thin air. “There is no ‘trick’ to this, boy. This is something alchemy can’t achieve!”

This time, though, Edward had paid close attention to the transmutation, with no interference from extra bodies. It _felt_ like a typical transmutation, but there was no pull of matter—instead, faint horrified screams seemed to echo inside the room. “Stop—stop it! Whatever you’re doing, stop it!”

“Edward?” Rose asked hesitantly.

“Rose,” Cornello said confidently. “The gun. Pick it up.”

Ed straightened. This couldn’t make anything good.

Hesitantly, Rose picked up the gun—not good, she wasn’t keeping her finger off the trigger.

“Now,” Cornello continued, “I want you to shoot the Fullmetal Alchemist.”

“Wh-what?!” Rose stammered. “I can’t!”

“Remember who raised you from despair. Remember what I promised you. This is God’s will, Rose.”

“You don’t have to listen,” Edward said, keeping his voice calm. “You’re free to make your own decisions.”

Cornello began to laugh.

“No, I’m not! I have to do it!” Rose cried.

“You don’t owe him anything, Rose, and a just god wouldn’t order you to kill someone who didn’t mean to harm you. You can just put the gun down.”

“No, I can’t!” Tears were running down Rose’s face now. “He said he’d bring Kain back to life!”

“He _lied_,” Edward said. “No one can do that.” _I should know_.

“You’ve seen the miracles!” Rose argued. “Even you can’t explain them!”

Edward turned toward the steps. “There’s a legend, but no one believes it. They call it the Philosopher’s Stone. It should _not_ exist. But…” He glared toward Cornello. “Stop playing with us. We aren’t children.”

“You don’t even believe in God!” Rose sobbed. “What would you know about miracles?”

Hot wind howling—Rachel wailing for her lost children. The smell of blood soaking into burning sand.

“You heard about what happened in Ishval,” Edward snapped. “How can you expect me to believe in miracles when all those people are dead? What makes _them_ any less deserving of resurrection than _your_ loved ones? It’s all or nothing, Rose, and I don’t want to believe in a God that picks and chooses!”

The impact knocked him back. Edward swore. Rose screamed. Ed hissed, rotating his right shoulder as he got up. “You _shot_ me!”

“Stop being a egotistical, selfish _jerk_, then!” Rose screamed, hysterically.

Ed couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing, reaching through the bullet hole in his sleeve and picking the bullet out of the plate on his upper arm. It was dented, but not punctured.

“Stop laughing!” Rose screeched.

“I’m sorry,” Edward said more quietly.

“I suppose I’ll have to take other measures, then,” Cornello said. Somewhere in the shadows, a heavy door ground open and something heavy advanced out—a combination of lizard and lion with the talons of a bird thrown in for good measure.

“Now that’s just an ethical nightmare. I may have to put your pet out of its misery.” Edward clapped and touched the ground, drawing up the traces of metal from the pavement and shaping them into a halberd. He blocked a swing from the claws, deflecting them away from his body, but a sharp blow told him that the chimera had clipped his automail leg. The monster fell back with a whine, then attacked again. Ed instinctively pulled his right arm up to protect his head and neck. The animal’s full weight landed on it. Edward lifted it with a grunt, then kicked it off of himself. _Thank you, Winry_…

“How?” Cornello shouted.

“This is the East. You must’ve seen automail before,” Edward challenged.

“Brat!” Cornello brought his walking stick forward, transforming it into a machine gun. “I’ll just have to send you to God myself!”

There was no longer any doubt in Edward’s mind; the false priest had gotten his hands on something unholy. Ed grabbed Rose by the arm, clapping and slamming his palms against the pavement just in time to shelter both of them from the rain of bullets.

“From what I’ve seen of God, he’d probably send me right back!”

Ed pushed Rose in front of him. “Quick! Go!” He clapped again, transmuting a door and hurrying the poor lady out into the hallway, spinning into a kick that hit another acolyte in the face. Ed and Rose ran straight toward the men barring their path; Ed made short work of them with a flurry of rapid punches and kicks.

A few minutes later, he guided Rose into a side room. It was set up like a radio studio. “What’s this?”

“Father Cornello’s broadcast room,” Rose replied. “It means people can still hear the daily sermon even if they can’t make it to the church.” She nodded to Ed’s back, which he noted was stickier than it had been. “It looks like a few of the cuts have opened up again.”

Ed shrugged. “No time to fix it now. I have an idea, but you’re going to need to make yourself scarce for it. I don’t want you to be in the line of fire when everything goes down. You’re going to want to be near a radio, though.”

Rose shoved him and took a step back. “What is your problem? Assuming that you know _everything_ about us!”

Ed sighed, taking his shredded glove off his automail hand. “This is what happens to someone who attempts to resurrect a person, Rose. You think I haven’t lost someone I loved? I _did_. And then everything I had fought for. I joined the military to push back.”

“But—”

“It didn’t even look human,” Ed interrupted her. “I paid for my desperate arrogance. I’m still paying for it. Don’t do this to yourself, Rose, unless you’re prepared to see your friend in your dreams, asking you why you made them suffer all over again, why you couldn’t make them right.” He gestured her out of the room. “Get going. Go find a radio. Please don’t get yourself shot.”

* * *

“There you are, you brat!” Cornello said breathlessly.

“Been looking all over for me, have you? You look like you could use the exercise.” Ed slowly nudged the switch to the on position, muffling the _click_. “What I don’t understand is why you used the stone to create a religion when it could easily create wealth or whatever you want.”

“It was never about the money,” Cornello laughed, then doubled over, breathing hard.

“Don’t rush yourself on my account,” Edward said. “Take your time.”

“If I needed money, I could ask for donations. No, what I wanted was people’s loyalty. And you’ll never wrench that away, you runt.” Edward felt his cheeks flush at the insult, but he bit his tongue and let Cornello talk. “They don’t even fear death, since they think it’s impermanent. It’s the perfect army—this whole country won’t be able to stand against it.”

“Truth, you’re unimaginative. But you never were going to make good on your promises, were you?”

“Of course I wouldn’t attempt human transmutation! I’m not some prepubescent—”

“It was all lies, all along.” Ed started to laugh. “Who did you think you were?”

“I still have the Stone! How dare you laugh—”

Edward held up the switch, still conspicuously in the on position. Cornello’s jaw dropped. Ed smirked at him. “It’s all been leaked.”

“You—you!”

“Don’t strain yourself,” Edward advised.

“Brat!” Cornello began to transmute his cane into a machine gun again.

“Too slow!” Ed brought his arm up, slicing the barrel neatly in half and kicking Cornello back. “You’re so outclassed you can’t even begin to see it.”

Something about the nature of the alchemic energy in the room warped inside-out. Instinctively, Edward took a few steps back as Cornello screamed. The light of the transmutation cleared and Ed stepped forward.

Even with all his experience as an alchemist, Ed had never seen a rebound where the transmutation had jumped to the alchemist—it was practically the first thing the books and Master Izumi had pounded into his head. _Never leave a circle unbounded. Always make sure to include your anchors and control points. Never forget the grounding symbols, and never let energy leave the circle through anything but the grounding symbols._ Even now, Ed wasn’t sure the rebound was even from human error. He seized Cornello’s hand and examined the ring. Maybe, if he used the stone, he could still reverse the damage—

The small red stone cracked and turned to dust, floating away on the air.

“It… _broke_?” Edward said out loud. “But all the legends say it’s a perfect substance…” He gave Cornello’s limp arm a shake. “You caused all this trouble and now—” Edward couldn’t help it. He started to laugh incredulously.

Cornello was begging, though Edward wasn’t really listening. He got to his feet. “I don’t think you can be prosecuted for what you’ve done, but maybe next time you should think twice about any offers of power or whatever. Start thinking about how to make an honest living like the rest of us.”

“Like _you_, dog of the military?”

“This country needs more honest dogs.” Ed got up and left the church.

* * *

Rose found him while he changed out of his ruined shirt and coat into fresh ones. “What’s going to happen to the philosopher’s stone?” she asked.

“No need to bring it back to my commanding officer. It broke. It’s dust now—not even collectable dust.” Edward closed his suitcase with a decisive _thunk._ Fortunately his overcoat wasn’t stained, though his waistcoat and shirt were probably going to be impossible to salvage, even with alchemy. He hadn’t really worked on transmuting bloodstains out of his clothes, though maybe he could just deconstruct and reconstruct the shirt without the blood and dirt on it. He didn’t bother trying, though; he clapped and repaired his overcoat, but balled up the shirt and waistcoat and dropped them in the trash.

Rose sat down on the bed with a thump. “What am I supposed to do now? What do I live for? What do I hope for?”

Ed sighed. “That’s something you’ll have to figure out yourself.”

“What do you live for, if not to get back the person you lost?” Rose demanded.

Ed folded his hands in his lap, staring at the floor. “You can’t live like that, Rose. It’s not coping, it’s becoming trapped in the past. As for what I live for… the only word that comes to mind is penance… I guess.” He stood up, picking up his suitcase. “You’ve got strong legs. May as well use ‘em.”

Rose swallowed. “Can I… may I get in contact with you again? To talk about things. If I get stuck.”

Ed shifted his weight. “Wouldn’t someone here be better?”

“Well… you have a different perspective,” Rose said, twisting her fingers nervously.

“I suppose you could write to me at East City, or call me at home…” Edward tore a sheet out of his notebook. “I was a tutor in school. Just tell ‘em you were a student of mine and they might not call you ‘Ed’s girlfriend.’ Maybe.” He smiled wryly at her. “I have three younger siblings and five aunts and uncles, all living in the same house. Just accept that you’re probably going to get teased.”

* * *

Doctor Lemain and Rose walked him down to the station. He boarded the train and the doctor helped him shove his suitcase into the rack; it was still uncomfortable to raise his hands over his head. She slid him a small, folded piece of paper. “In case you need to talk about faith, or your career choice,” she said quietly. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Edward gave her a hug. The doctor stepped out back onto the platform. They both waved as the train pulled away from the platform.

Edward leaned his head against the glass of the window, pulling it shut to block out the hot, blasting wind and sand.

The philosopher’s stone. It was real.

And it was _wrong_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more I write this au, the more of my headcanons about the intricacies of alchemy slip in...


	10. Downtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed spends a mostly-normal weekend with his family.

Edward set a completed report—as comprehensive as he could make it without mentioning the monster below the church and as neatly-written as he could manage—on Mustang’s desk. Somehow, he’d never been able to get his handwriting up to standard.

“Something you need, Fullmetal?” Mustang asked. Edward looked him in the eyes. It was odd, seeing no deeper recognition there. Though they hadn’t been as close as he had been with Hawkeye, they were still friends, for some value of “friends.”

Mustang didn’t remember him.

“Do you know anything about the philosopher’s stone, sir?” Edward asked, impulsively. Maybe it was stupid to trust Mustang—he didn’t know them, not in this life—but he wanted to trust _someone_.

Mustang frowned, as though scraping through his memory. “Only the legends and the fact that no one gives them credence.”

“Well. The high priest in Leore had _something_, sir.” _Your hunch was right._

“I see,” was all Mustang said. “If you want to do more research, Fullmetal, be my guest. Don’t expect to find anything through orthodox channels, though.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Are you going up to Central for the weekend?” Mustang asked.

Edward nodded. “If you can spare me, sir.”

“Say hello to Lieutenant Colonel Hughes for me,” Mustang said, handing Edward a report for filing.

“I will.”

* * *

“How was it?” Dad asked as they rode back from the train station.

Ed shrugged. “It wasn’t bad. The investigation bit was pretty straightforward, but… there’s something more going on. Something weird.”

Dad sighed.

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m…”

“It’s not your fault, Edward.” Dad watched the road ahead of them. “You’re not a normal teenager. I don’t even know if you really qualify as a teenager, even.” He sighed. “I wasn’t that much older than you when I had to leave school and get my first job, and as soon as I was eighteen it was the military for me. It’s only three years before you turn eighteen… not even that.”

“Is it that I’m out on my own all the time, now?” Ed asked.

“No, not really. You can cook, you can take care of yourself, you know how to do laundry. You could beat the pants off any muggers or kidnappers who didn’t take one look at you and run screaming.”

“Da-ad,” Ed complained.

Dad sighed again. “It’s just… you’re our baby. And your age or circumstances won’t ever change that.” He parked the car in front of the row house.

They climbed the front stairs and opened the door, the smell of stew wafting out to meet them. Edward shuffled his suitcase between his hands as he climbed the stairs, not wanting to trip himself and re-open the healing cuts along his back, chest and left arm. Suitcase back in his bedroom, Ed made his way to the kitchen, absently thanking Ishvala for the meal. Even if he didn’t believe, the habits Mom had engrained in him died hard.

* * *

The Brosh family didn’t take long over grace.

“So. What did you bring us?” Kaitlyn asked, bouncing slightly in her chair.

Edward looked up, almost dropping his spoon back into his bowl. He glanced around the table guiltily, as if he’d gotten caught taking the last roll. “I didn’t know I was obligated to bring you anything.”

Kaitlyn whined, leaning her head toward the table next to her bowl.

“I’ve made bunches of toys for you over the years!” Ed protested. “Besides. It’s not like there’s anything particularly interesting about East City. It’s not Aquroya.”

“You went to Aquroya?” Jace, at seven the youngest of the Brosh family, said. Stew dripped over his chin.

Ed sighed. “Close your mouth, Jace. I did not go to Aquroya. Just East City and a tiny little border city called Leore. I suppose I could’ve brought you back a statue of their sun god but I was too busy worrying about other things, like the predatory cult…”

“What’s a cult?” Jace wanted to know.

Ed massaged his temples.

“A cult is a group, often religious, where they don’t want to let you leave,” Aunt Lia explained.

“They also frequently want something from their members, apart from belief. Sometimes it’s abject loyalty to a single person…” Ed bit his lip. “Sometimes, it involves violence or attacks on the outside world.”

“Edward,” Aunt Lia said softly. “You’re talking over their heads again.”

Ed bit his lip. “Sorry.” He leaned toward Jace. “Cults are bad. Don’t join one. If anyone makes you an offer of any sort, always ask what that person has to gain if you say ‘yes’.”

“Like the kids who smoke behind the bleachers?” Kaitlyn asked cheerfully.

Edward’s spoon snapped off under his grip. “Kids _what?!_”

“Ed. Volume,” Dad said. Ed took a deep breath.

“The school administration is doing something about it, Ed.” Mom told him reassuringly.

“Yeah, cool your savior complex, Ed,” Kaitlyn chimed in.

Aunt Lia sighed. “Don’t scold your older brother, Kait.”

“How’s school going?” Ed asked. “I hope it’s not all downhill now I’m not around all the time to tutor you three.”

“It’s been going just fine,” Alex said. “It’s not like they’ve been teaching new stuff in math lately.”

Kaitlyn snorted. “Yeah, just peachy, oh esteemed leader.” She nudged her twin brother. “Things won’t start falling apart just because you’re not home. Right, Alex?”

“Right,” Alex agreed.

“Ed, when’re you going to start teaching me alchemy?” seven-year-old Jace asked, kicking the spokes of his chair. “I gotta fix the stuff I break otherwise I won’t have it any more!”

Ed took a sip of milk and grimaced. “Maybe you should start being more careful with your toys and learn to fix them through ordinary means first.”

“But I wanna be magic!” Jace complained.

Ed sighed. No matter how many times he explained that alchemy was a _science_, Jace still persisted in calling it “magic.” “You have to learn the periodic table and chemistry stuff first. And you have to promise that you won’t ever attempt to use alchemy unless I’m there.” The mental image of Cornello’s ruined arm, sheeted over like metal and gears protruding from the not-skin, pulsing and leaving the man screaming, shoved its way to the front of his mind.

Ed leaped to his feet, dashed to the sink, filled a glass and drained it. He stared at the glass, where spiderweb cracks had appeared under the pressure of his automail fingers. Not good. He should’ve been better at regulating his own strength by now.

Edward clapped, restoring the structural integrity of the glass. Mom came into the kitchen. “Ed, are you all right?”

Ed took a deep breath, pressing the cool glass, still damp, against his forehead. “Not now. Later. When the littles are asleep.”

Mom hugged him from the side.

“Jace really isn’t ready for alchemy,” Edward whispered. “He thinks he is, but…”

“I trust you to keep him safe,” Mom said quietly. Ed nodded slowly. They returned to the dining room.

Ed smiled at Jace. “We’ll start alchemy stuff soon, okay? But there’s a lot you have to know before you can actually start transmuting things. If you aren’t careful, alchemy can be dangerous.”

Jace hummed and dug his spoon into his stew.

* * *

Later, after the younger ones had gone to bed, Ed sat between Mom and Dad on their bed, their interlaced arms supporting his back. He leaned his head on Dad’s shoulder tiredly.

“How did you get hurt?” Dad asked.

Ed took a deep breath. “Would you think I was crazy if I told you it was some kind of shadow monster?”

“What?” Mom said. “A _what_?”

Ed laughed. “Yeah. That’s what I said.”

Silence for a while.

“You dashed out when Jace said he wanted to learn alchemy,” Dad pointed out.

Ed huffed out a sigh. “That was more mundane. I saw a pretty nasty rebound in Leore. I’ve been doing this so long and I’m so used to following my safety protocols I don’t even really think about that any more. I just… I don’t want that sort of thing to ever happen to Jace.”

“I’m sure it won’t,” Dad said softly. “You’re sometimes thoughtless about people’s feelings, Ed, sometimes reckless, but careless? Never.” He ruffled Ed’s bangs. “You don’t mess up.” He kept running a hand through Ed’s hair. “Isn’t this getting in your way? It’s getting a bit long.”

Ed shrugged. “I don’t know. I kind of like it like this. I’ve been thinking about growing it out.”

“You state alchemists and your right to flaunt regulations,” Dad teased.

It was quiet again for a while. Ed listened to the myriad creaks of the house settling, Dad still stroking his hair.

“What was your life like before, Ed?” Mom asked quietly. “Did you have any family?”

Ed frowned thoughtfully. “I had a little brother—a year younger than me. Our mother was Ishvalan, though she had chestnut hair, not white… I think back then being Ishvalan was a bit different. Pretty much everyone we knew practiced some of the traditions, or had Ishvalan blood. They weren’t isolated like they have been since the extermination campaign. They were more accepting of alchemists, too.” Perhaps the Amestrian racism that had pressured Ishval into isolation in its tiny corner of the Eastern desert also had fueled their current beliefs about alchemy.

Funny, that. It was only by a stroke of luck that Dad hadn’t been sent to Ishval, and Mom had taken lighter duties. He’d been two years old when the civil war had started.

If that child had lived—the one whose death had sparked the fighting—she’d be older than him now. The loss sat heavy and hollow in the pit of his stomach.

“You were Ishvalan?” Dad prompted.

Ed swallowed. “I don’t think I can really stop being Ishvalan. I mean… I still look like Hohenheim… and since I remembered, I’ve found myself saying the prayers and falling in with the traditions without even thinking about it.”

“Hohenheim. Was that your father’s name?” Mom asked.

“He was nothing like you,” Ed told Dad fiercely. “He was _nothing_ like you. He up and disappeared one day and Al and I didn’t know why he went or where he’d gone. Mom never told us. She waited for him for the rest of her life—which wasn’t that long. She got sick, and then…” Ed swallowed. “She was gone.” He blinked rapidly.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ed,” Mom whispered, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m not going to leave you.”

“I know,” Ed whispered back.

“Neither am I,” Dad said, hugging both of them.

“It was nice to have a happy childhood this time,” Ed mumbled into Mom’s shoulder. So what if he’d been brought back just to be a soldier again, to be Truth’s weapon? He’d had fifteen years of peaceful bliss. If he died in ignominy again, that was old news.

Except he wasn’t going to die. Mom and Dad would be devastated. He couldn’t let them down. And he had to teach Jace alchemy, and be Nina’s big brother, and make sure Doctor Lemain had made the right choice. And he still had to find Alphonse—if Mustang, Hawkeye, Breda and the others were all back again, then why wouldn’t Alphonse?

“I want to find Alphonse,” Edward said softly. “My brother back then. We were all we had. I owe him.”

Mom and Dad exchanged humorous glances over Edward’s head. “There’s always room in this house for more kids, and their parents,” Mom said.

Ed stretched, arching his back so he could reach her cheek for a kiss. “Thanks.” He kissed Dad’s cheek as well.

Feeling happier and more at peace than he had since receiving the assignment, Edward dozed off between his mother and father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter this time, but it's not really "filler."
> 
> Thank goodness for Archive of Our Own's tagging system... I am never going back to fanfiction.net if I can help it.


	11. Alkahest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and the Tringhams visit Xenotime to investigate the theft of Nash Tringham's research on the Philosopher's Stone.

Ed was rudely awakened by something solid hitting him hard in the stomach. Instinctively, he brought his knees up to his chest, trying to regain his breath and coincidentally squishing Kaitlyn against him.

“Kaitlyn, what the hell—”

“You’ve got a visitor,” Kaitlyn said cheerfully. “Some kid from school. He seems to be freaking out. Might want to get down there.”

Ed tugged his shirt to straighten it as much as he could, which wasn’t much, given that he’d fallen asleep in his day clothes. He headed down the stairs. Russell Tringham was sitting on the couch in the living room.

“Russell, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, good, you’re home.” Russell stood up, visibly jittery. “Edward, someone’s stolen our father’s research. I heard that they’re working on it in Xenotime, his original hometown.”

“Where’s that?”

“Middle of nowhere in the South sector. It used to be a gold-mining operation, but then the mine went dry, which is why—”

Edward held up his hands. “Wait a minute. What, exactly, was your father researching?”

Russell swallowed. “The philosopher’s stone.”

Edward fought to keep his expression controlled. “The philosopher’s stone doesn’t exist.” He watched Russell closely, examining him for any reaction.

“From what Father’s journals say, it does,” Russell argued. “All his calculations check out. And now someone’s stolen his research—”

“If you were able to create a philosopher’s stone,” Edward said neutrally, “what would you do with it? What’s the point of possessing such and object?”

“I’m sure it would have potential applications in research, or something,” Russell said. “In the right hands.”

“Whose hands?” Edward pressed.

Russell’s jaw clenched. “Not the hands of the thieves!”

Edward sat down on the couch. “Russell, I just got back from Leore, where I witnessed the definite misuse of a catalyst. I’m not sure it was a philosopher’s stone at all, but…” He sighed, frustrated. “I don’t know what I’m getting to with this, but whatever it was, I don’t think it should be in the hands of the army. Maybe no one’s hands are safe.”

Russell eyed him cautiously. “Did something happen? You’re not acting like your normal self.”

Edward stared at the floor. He _should_ tell Russell the truth. They were _friends._

_I’ll do it on the train,_ he thought, then realized he was actually planning to go along with it.

“I’m just tired,” he said, realizing too late that the silence had become awkward. “I had to convince my commanding officer to take me seriously. It was exhausting.”

“What about Leore?” Russell asked.

“The high priest was making ‘miracles’ with the stone to turn his followers fanatic in order to build a personal army. We caught it in time. They’ll be fine.”

“Not every mission is going to be a success like that one, Ed.”

Edward sighed. “You too? I am _not_ going to change my mind. This is the path I chose. I’m going to follow it.”

Russell held up his hands placatingly. “Don’t get mad at me. I’m not complaining about your position; the orphanage might let us go to Xenotime without putting up a fight if you sign off on it.”

“Don’t you think that would be an abuse of power?” Edward asked tiredly.

“_Please_,” Russell said insistently. Damn. Russell had clearly been taking lessons from Fletcher on how to properly use the puppy eyes, and despite his own three younger siblings, Ed was not immune.

Ed groaned. “Fine. I’m going to have to inform my commanding officer, though. I’m subject to the orders of the military now, remember? And I’m too new to have any wiggle room.”

* * *

Ed grimaced as the movement of the train jolted his hand for the umpteenth time, razing a sharp line through his already nearly-illegible handwriting. He capped the pen and tossed it down on the bench next to him. “How did you break your father’s code? I’m assuming the notes _were_ coded.”

“Yes, but he wasn’t very rigorous,” Russell replied. “He was mostly trying to keep us out of his work.”

“A few months after he went back to Xenotime, we got a letter in the mail. It helped us break the code,” Fletcher explained. “Then, a few weeks later…”

“We got another letter from the Mayor of Xenotime to notify us that our father had gone missing,” Russell said.

Edward bit his lip, wondering if Russell had been jealous of him—the virtual stranger receiving alchemy tutoring from his own father, barely older than them, when Russell himself was deemed not yet ready.

“While we wait, let’s see what else we can find from your father’s journals,” Edward suggested. Fletcher was already standing on the seat, pulling down a suitcase. Ed caught the suitcase and Russell caught Fletcher before he could topple over.

“Let’s get started,” Russell said.

* * *

Ed massaged aching temples as he read aloud. “’The mixture of these two acids will create a near-alkahest solvent for the dissolution of minerals; pressure and measured temperature fluctuations between zero and ninety degrees will cause precipitation of the minerals to form a crystalline matrix with piezoelectric qualities…’” He set the journal down. “This is for a conduit, not a catalyst. Where would the additional energy come from? It makes no sense.”

“I suppose you could add something else to the conduit and then it would act as a capacitor,” Fletcher said.

“But what would you _add_?” Ed snapped. “That doesn’t solve the problem at all!”

“Hey! Don’t talk to Fletcher like that,” Russell almost-shouted. Fletcher flinched visibly.

Ed avoided their eyes. “Sorry. That was out of line.” He cleared off the bench. “If there’s nothing else of use in your father’s notes, I’m going to sleep until our stop.”

* * *

Beyond the train station, the outskirts of Xenotime were primarily a series of small farms, most growing fruit trees. Small hedges of wild plum grew along either side of the road; Edward picked a handful and ate them as they walked. He had done the same back in Resembool in 1650; the nostalgia hit hard, took no prisoners.

“What are those?” Fletcher asked.

“Wild plum.” Ed handed some to Fletcher. “Careful of the pits.”

Fletcher popped one in his mouth, bit down, and made a face. “It’s tart.”

“That’s what makes it good.” Ed retorted.

“What’s the plan?” Russell asked.

Ed shrugged. “We try to determine who the alchemists working on the project are, and we talk to them. Try not to offend them—it’ll just shut off our access to the information.”

Russell sighed. “Fine.”

“If anyone asks, you came down to pay your respects to your father’s grave. I’m a student on my way from the university in South City to Dublith, and we met on the train and bonded over our shared interest in alchemy. It’s more believable than me being your chaperone.”

“But why not just tell them you’re a state alchemist?” Fletcher asked.

“People don’t talk to soldiers unless they can’t help it, Fletcher.”

“I guess that makes sense,” the twelve-year-old mumbled. Ed gave the kid a quick side-on hug.

Up ahead, just off the road, there was a loud _thud_ and several alarmed shouts.

Edward broke into a run, the Tringhams close behind.

* * *

An overturned mine cart had trapped a little girl. She sobbed brokenly, obviously bruised and frightened. Edward hoped fervently that no part of her body had been crushed. He nodded to Russell; they joined the men trying to shove the weighty cart off of the girl. It wasn’t budging; the lip seemed to be wedged firmly under a pile of rocks.

Ed scooped up a handful of soil. Loose and sandy; he could compact it into sandstone, but he’d need to use quite a bit to distribute the weight of the cart and keep his creation from breaking and dropping the heavy mine cart back onto her.

“Quick. How much does this thing weight?” he demanded of one of the miners.

“About 1.5 tons,” the man said. “But what does that have to do—”

“Just be ready to pull her out as soon as the cart moves,” Edward snapped. He clapped and touched the ground, pushing up solid pillars of sandstone to take the cart’s weight. “Get her out of the way,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “_Hurry!_”

Russell and one of the miners pulled the girl clear. Edward sent up an embankment on the other side of the tracks in case the cart rocked too far the other way, then pushed the upper edge of the cart higher, turning it upright. It clanged heavily onto the tracks, rocked precariously for a minute, then sat as still as a boulder. Ed clapped again, sinking his sandstone supports back into the earth.

He staggered as he tried to stand up again, out of breath. It wasn’t a particularly large transmutation, but it had been sustained; he hadn’t dared to let go of it, in case the cart started to shift. Added to that, he had been working on adrenaline in a way he usually wouldn’t. The stakes were much higher than usual.

One of the miners helped him to his feet. “Thank you, sir! I don’t know what we could’ve done without your help. My name is Alan Niels; Alisa is my daughter.”

“I’m glad we were able to help,” Edward said breathlessly. He took a deep breath. “Just a minute. I can walk. I just need to get my balance back.”

“You’re an alchemist, correct? Did you come to help with the great work?”

Ed did his best not to show the way his ears pricked up. He blinked at Alan, feigning ignorance. “Great work?”

“The creation of the philosopher’s stone!” another miner chimed in.

“I thought the philosopher’s stone didn’t exist.”

Alan chuckled. “It will soon.”

“Well. Now I’m curious,” Edward admitted.

“We can show you the way up to the manor house,” Alan offered. “What are your names?”

“Edward Brosh. I’m a student at South City University.”

“You’re very young,” observed a woman. Ed shrugged.

“I’m Russell Tringham and this is my little brother Fletcher. We’re here to pay our respects at our father’s grave.”

The woman nodded. “I’m sorry to tell you this, boys, but your father’s grave is empty. He just disappeared one day. I’m sorry.”

Edward glanced at Russell, who gave the woman a sheepish smile. “Well. It was worth a try, anyway.”

“We’re alchemists as well,” Fletcher piped up. “We met Edward on the train and discovered we’re all alchemists.”

As they followed Alan toward the manor house, Russell edged closer to Edward, bumping his elbow. “Since when can you transmute without a circle?” Russell hissed in Ed’s ear.

“It’s a long story. Wait until we’re alone,” Edward murmured back. Russell huffed but fell silent.

It was dusk when they arrived at the mansion set on the mountain the mines backed onto. “An odd place to build,” Edward commented. “What if one of the mine tunnels collapses?”

Alan laughed. “Perish the thought. Xenotime is the safest mine in the world.”

Edward exchanged glances with the Tringhams.

* * *

The door was opened by a young woman in a maid’s outfit with short blue-black hair. “We’ve found you a few more researchers for the project, Lyra,” Alan said jovially. “Edward Brosh and Russell and Fletcher Tringham.”

Lyra looked less than contented. “I’ll have to speak with Mr. Magwar.” Out of the corner of his eye, Ed caught a flash of light on metal as she turned. “Please come in.” They followed her into an entryway. “Wait here while I get Mr. Magwar.”

Edward glanced around the manor house. The room was large, richly furnished, but he noted that some of the picture frames and decorative vases seemed a little bit dusty. Perhaps Magwar had a personal stake in the matter—he stood to lose the value of his land. It spoke of an almost pathological failure to adapt, given the rich, fruitful farms Ed had seen on the way into Xenotime.

The landowner appeared in the entryway, Lyra following. Magwar was a balding, overweight middle-aged man in a white suit, no taller than Russell. He glanced between the three alchemists before shaking hands with Russell. “Mr. Brosh?”

Edward raised his hand. “Myself.”

“I’m Russell Tringham,” Russell explained awkwardly. “Here to pay my respects at my father’s grave.”

“It was a tragedy—quite a tragedy, what happened to Nash,” Magwar said. He shook hands with Ed, raising his eyebrows. “Automail?”

“Birth defect,” Edward explained.

“Brosh… Edward Brosh. I could have sworn that I know your name from somewhere.”

Edward laughed. “It’s not an uncommon name in the West area, but I’ve lived in Central all my life.”

“And what brings you to Xenotime?” Magwar asked.

“I’m on my way from South City to Dublith. I’m a student at South City University.”

“Already a talented alchemist at your age?”

Ed laughed again, trying not to show his frustration. “People always seem to assume I’m younger than I am. I’m fifteen.”

Maybe stating his age had been a mistake. Magwar was straining to remember now. Edward jumped in quickly. “Sir, I don’t understand. How do you intend to create the philosopher’s stone? I believe the academic community concluded that it was impossible under the Law of Equivalent Exchange.”

“Ah, but isn’t the stone supposed to make the impossible possible?” Magwar winked broadly.

“I’ll admit I am curious.”

“I’ll be frank with you, Edward. I’m no alchemist. It would be better to let one of the alchemists working on the project explain it. The laboratory is this way.”

As they walked, another flash of metal at Lyra’s throat caught Edward’s attention. It was a necklace with a transmutation circle inscribed on it, set on a pivot inside a larger ring.

“Don’t you know that it’s not polite to stare at a lady’s chest?” Lyra’s voice cut coldly across his thoughts.

“I was admiring your transmutation circle. Nitrogen compression, correct?”

Something approaching interest flared in Lyra’s expression. “May I ask what, precisely, your specialty is?”

“Earth-based transmutations, especially metals,” Edward replied. “I think a broad knowledge base is crucial for any alchemist, however.”

“I see,” Lyra said, sounding more thoughtful and less hostile.

The laboratory was a long, narrow room, one long side lined with windows, the other backing onto an extensive library. The tables were covered with sealed containers full of a rosy liquid, dark red precipitate at the bottom of several. A lanky man with thin, mousy hair stood up to greet them. Ed took in the breathing masks hanging from pegs along one wall. “The solution is hazardous to handle?”

The lanky man laughed confidently. “Only if you’re careless. Slater Hill.”

“Edward Brosh.” They shook hands.

“You’re an alchemist?” Hill asked.

Ed set down his suitcase by the side of the room and headed over to the table. “I’m studying at South City University. What are you working on here?”

“The particulates are dissolved in a solvent, then agitated to drop the precipitate, as you can see. We’ve been having trouble getting it to form larger crystals.” Ed exchanged glances with Russell. From what they’d read of Nash Tringham’s journals, this was certainly the method the late alchemist had created.

“What’s the chemical makeup of the precipitate?” Russell asked.

Ed didn’t miss the distrustful look Magwar shot at Russell. “You two are also alchemists?”

“Our father only taught us the basics,” Russell admitted. Magwar seemed to relax.

_He knows something, but he’s not going to tell us willingly_, Edward thought.

The next few minutes were a blur of formulae, most of which Ed, Russell and Fletcher already knew, courtesy of Nash’s research journals. While Hill was explaining the makeup of the desired crystals, Ed commented, “Heat might be useful in accelerating precipitation.”

“Nothing we’ve tried delivers the heat evenly enough,” Hill objected, gesturing to an unused Bunsen burner.

Ed frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe what you need is a different approach…” He reached for the chalk, drawing out his circle in a single confident motion and adding the constructional symbols for water, sulfur, metallic salt. He only wanted to isolate the precipitate, not the liquid component of the acid solution. Absorbed in his work, he didn’t notice the amazed glances passing between Lyra and Hill.

Edward added the finishing, anchoring, grounding and activation runes to his circle. He reached for a round flask full of the red solution and was about to uncork it to allow for heat release when Hill grabbed his arm. “What are you trying to do!?” the man gasped.

“Trying to keep the flask from exploding under pressure,” Edward said. “Things expand when they’re heated. That pressure could actually be what’s been keeping the particulates suspended in the solution rather than dropping out.”

Hill gave him a harsh look before grabbing the breathing masks. “You’re going to need these,” he said darkly.

“Can we open the windows? If there are fumes, they’ll be pulled outside,” Fletcher suggested. Hill rushed to the wall and began to open the windows.

Safety measures taken, Edward set the glass flask and its stand at the center of his circle and activated it.

For several minutes, nothing visibly happened, except for the sparks thrown by the transmutation reaction. However, Ed knew better, as he was carefully agitating the liquid, raising its temperature gradually but still faster than a pot on a stove. As Edward continued to raise the temperature, a heat shimmer began to appear around the retort. Suddenly, all the solids in the suspension crystallized and fell from the liquid to the bottom of the retort, leaving behind a pinkish-brown solution. The particles, however, were all too small to be of practical use.

Carefully, Ed removed the retort from the circle with a pair of long-handled tongs. He erased part of his work, adding elemental symbols and adjusting the circle to accommodate them. Finally, he replaced the retort on the circle and activated it.

The heat shimmer reappeared. After another few minutes, the sediment re-dissolved into the solution; then it began to gather at the center of the flask, building into a single crystal. The last of the key components gone from the solution, Edward released the remaining energy from the circle, careful not to damage the product of their work.

This time, it was Ed’s turn to restrain Hill from reaching toward the flask. “It’s still very hot,” he cautioned, muffled by the breathing mask. “Let it cool overnight. It won’t crack or re-dissolve—I made sure of that.”

“Amazing,” Magwar breathed.

Lyra humphed. “It’s easy to barge in when someone else already did all the work for you. However…”

“To be able to compose a transmutation circle at the drop of a hat and for it to work on the first try?” Hill shook his head. “Why haven’t we heard of you before?!”

Ed shrugged uncomfortably. “With a good understanding of the elements, their electron orbits, and the flow of the universe, any alchemist should be able to do what I’ve done. Though… maybe not quite as quickly.”

“You just described an ideal that very few alchemists actually attain,” Hill pointed out.

Lyra looked as if she had swallowed a lemon, but she still added, “For most, that level of understanding and ability is impractical—even impossible. It’s enough to develop one array to use… or pick one out of a book.”

Ed stared at his surroundings, bewildered.

“Most people study alchemy for other reasons, Ed,” Russell pointed out.

“Why are you studying alchemy, Mr. Brosh?” Lyra demanded.

Ed’s mouth opened. He was painfully conscious that his hands were trembling. “Because I love it,” he stammered. “Because nothing else makes me feel whole.” That was a lie. Winry did, but these strangers didn’t need to know about Winry. “Because there are questions that need answers and problems that need solutions and if I don’t keep asking those questions and looking for solutions…” He shrugged, unhappily. “I might as well be dead.”

There was warmth against his right side, where Fletcher had pressed himself under the pretense of leaning tiredly on him. Edward was grateful for it; the gentle pressure anchored him. Fletcher further remedied the situation by yawning hugely.

“Dear me!” Magwar cried. “It’s so late. You must all be exhausted. Please, stay here in my mansion. I hope you don’t all mind sharing a room, since we’re already putting up Mr. Hill and Miss Lyra?”

Edward looked at Russell, who replied, “That’s fine.”

“Excellent!” Magwar cheered. “This way, please. I’ll have the staff send up food to your room and we can all discuss this further tomorrow.”

* * *

Alone with the Tringhams at last, Edward checked that no one outside their shared room was listening in. Russell watched him with interest. “Are you finally going to tell us why you’ve been acting so odd lately?”

Edward closed the door solemnly. “You’re probably going to think I’m crazy.”

“What do you mean?” Fletcher asked.

Ed swallowed. “I was doing research for a report on the Eastern annexation and I came across a list of dates corresponding to back issues of the Central Times. There was a sketch in one of them. The subject looked _exactly_ like me, but he died in 1661. My parents saw it too… The thing is, even if we are related in any way, why would I look exactly like him after 250 years when no one else in our family ever did?”

“What are you saying?” Russell asked.

“I’m starting to remember things that happened to him too.” Ed swallowed. “I think… I think I might actually _be_ him.” He took a deep breath. “They don’t teach us about the resistance in school. I’m not remembering details that I could’ve previously learned in class. It all makes a frightening amount of sense.”

“But if reincarnation is real, then why do you remember when no one else does?” Russell pressed.

“I don’t think it’s by any means the normal order of the universe,” Edward said. “Most religions believe that reincarnated people look different from life to life. Why do I look the same? The only way I can rationalize it is that souls only match one body… With a different appearance, or anyone else’s, it wouldn’t…” Edward choked on his words. Alphonse.

_My brother. My sin. My fault_.

Fletcher was staring at him in concern, hands folded in his lap where he sat on the other bed. “Are you all right?”

Edward swiped roughly at his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t _look_ like nothing,” Russell pointed out.

Ed sniffed. “I made a mistake, and now it’s a couple centuries too late to fix it.” He composed himself. “Anyway. You two are probably my closest friends. I thought you should know.”

“What are you planning to do?” Russell asked, skirting around the question like an anxious society debutante trying to join a dance for the first time.

Ed sighed. “The cause died centuries ago, but there’s something rotten in this country and I intend to find out what it is.”

Russell shrugged, visibly out of his depth. “If you say so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has turned into my dumping ground for all my most hardcore alchemy headcanons and BS sciencing. I don't know. I kind of like it this way.
> 
> If I've gotten anything blatantly wrong about the science stuff, please chalk it up to slightly different laws of nature. I'm flagrantly improvising it all. I'm open to discussion about it but I don't plan on revising at this time. One really only has so much time.


	12. False Citrine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, greed is an ugly thing. Ed and the Tringhams' research into the philosopher's stone plunges into the nastier side of human nature.

Edward shifted the paper with the transmutation circle—a simple one, meant for moving earth and stone—and weighted it so it wouldn’t shift in the brisk breeze.

“Why not try something a bit more of a challenge?” Lyra asked. “Try without the circle.”

While Ed had been patient, Lyra’s constant challenges and power-levering were starting to get on his nerves. Last night, she had been subdued after the display he’d put on for them, but this morning, she couldn’t seem to just leave him be.

Edward stood up slowly and stepped away from the circle. “I doubt it’ll work. This is just a conduit. A catalyst. It doesn’t contribute anything to the transmutation. But, if you insist…” He picked up the stone, walked several feet away from the circle, visualized his transmutation and channeled the energy through the crystal. It felt like the pull of a typical transmutation, just funneled through the ruby-colored point in his hand—nothing like the Stone in Leore.

Edward touched the stone to the ground. A single sandstone monolith rose from the ground a few inches from his fingers. He passed the stone to Hill. “Just because I could do that doesn’t mean any alchemist could.” Although this probably had less to do with his talent for alchemy and more with Edward’s ability to transmute without a circle, but Edward was loath to show his hand.

Hill took the stone, touched it to the ground like Ed had. Nothing. He made another attempt, trying harder this time. He shrugged and passed the stone off to Lyra, with the same effect. Neither of them seemed to be able to hold the circle in their minds and project it into the stone. Lyra handed it reluctantly back to Ed.

Next, Edward tried to transmute at a distance, using the crystal at one end and a circle at the other. Once again, it worked, though the greater the distance the greater the resistance from the ground. Again, Hill and Lyra attempted it, but couldn’t seem to even get the same results as Edward could.

Ed sighed in frustration, rubbing his temples. “So that’s it, then. It’s a pretty toy but it does nothing impressive. Nothing we can’t already do with a circle except extend the range a little. There’s still no way to get past the law of equivalent exchange.”

Magwar grabbed the crystal fragment from Ed, shaking it in the air. “I’m not giving up yet!” Magwar cried, almost frantically. “The philosopher’s stone will be completed!”

Edward held out his hand. “There’s one last thing I want to try.”

Magwar and the other four alchemists watched curiously as Edward held the crystal over a transmutation circle, drawing transmutation energy into the crystal and impressing the shape of the transmutation he visualized onto it without activating it yet. The stone was almost at the upper limit of how much it could hold, but he wasn’t quite done.

The stone seemed to twist violently in his hand, but it wasn’t the stone, it was the _transmutation_. Edward felt it leave his grasp. Hurriedly, he focused on dispersing the energy, tamping it back down, but it wasn’t working with him any more.

_There are some things even you can’t impose your will on, Edward_, Master Izumi’s voice rang in his memory.

Edward mentally shaped the inverse of his circle. Arcs of electricity sprang between his fingertips. His fingers touched, negating the transmutation, but all that energy had to go _somewhere_—

* * *

Voices hummed low nearby. It was difficult to distinguish the words, or even recognize who was speaking. He was lying on something soft; he ached all over.

“Edward!”

That was Fletcher. The younger Tringham sprang onto the bed, leaning close to him. “Thank goodness you’re awake! What happened!?”

“Too bright,” Ed protested. “Ow.”

A severe woman with graying hair and a white coat placed a cool, damp cloth over his eyes, reducing the throbbing in his head. “You’ll be lucky to get off with just photosensitive migraines,” she reprimanded. “It looks almost as if you’ve been struck by lightning—chronically and repeatedly, not just today.”

“Normally it’s only a little static,” Ed said, trying to reassure her.

“What the hell were you trying to do?” the woman demanded.

Ed sighed, aggrieved. “Alchemy is a complex and sometimes dangerous science. Sometimes things go wrong. It’s better to get hit with the transmutation energy than to let a transmutation get out of control.” The woman looked doubtful. “Please just assume I know what I’m doing,” Edward growled.

“He does.” Slater Hill said helpfully.

The woman sighed. “Be more careful next time. If you notice shortness of breath, persistent headaches, chest pain… come find me.” She tucked her stethoscope back into her pocket and left.

* * *

The city of Xenotime glimpsed by daylight was a far different place than Xenotime at night. While still a city in decline, its inhabitants clung to hopeful cheer regardless.

It made Edward feel sick at heart to think of what that hope was predicated on. Secretly, he despised Magwar.

Alan showed them along the main street, pointing out landmarks. “This is our marketplace,” he announced. “It won’t be this dead for long.”

“Do you have goldsmiths living in the city?” Russell asked.

“Not as many as we once did,” a new voice said. The boys all turned to look.

“What do you want, Vercio?” Alan asked, his tone distinctly cool.

“I understood that my old friend’s sons were here,” Vercio replied. He was a tall, thin man with a pointed face and curly dark hair. “I was hoping to speak with them.”

Edward exchanged glances with Russell and Fletcher. “We can visit the mines later, correct?” Edward asked Alan. “We’ll meet you back here in a few hours.”

Alan looked a bit displeased by the interruption, but he nodded. “I’ll see you back here at one. That should be enough time for Vercio to finish yarning.”

Edward didn’t deign to justify that with a retort. “Until then.” He shepherded the Tringhams after Vercio.

Vercio led them toward a farm of citrus trees. Inside the farmhouse’s kitchen, a basket of lemons rested at the center of the table, suffusing the room with their fresh, bright scent. “Can I get you something to drink?” Vercio asked.

“Water’s fine for me,” Edward said.

“Same for us,” Russell added.

They sat around the kitchen table. “I thought you boys might want to hear more about your father,” Vercio began. “I’ve known him since we were boys, before he left to pursue his studies in Central. He was the first to research the red water.”

“We’ve read his research,” Russell commented.

Vercio raised an eyebrow. “Really? I believed most of it had been destroyed.”

“Maybe it was,” Russell mumbled. “What was there was incomplete.”

“I see.” Vercio stared down at his glass. “When I spoke to him after he returned here, he told me he had failed both as a husband and as a father.”

Edward’s chair rattled onto the floor as he kicked it backward, leaping to his feet. “That’s still no excuse for abandoning his family! If he has failed, the place to seek penance is with _them_, not a hundred miles away!”

Russell reached for Ed’s sleeve. “Ed. It’s all right. Not everyone’s family is going to be as close-knit and welcoming as yours.”

Edward’s hands were shaking. He clenched them into fists, then sat back down, holding them in his lap.

“The gold vein here was once so rich that it produced gold enough to sustain the city alone, apart from the farms that long ago provided most of Xenotime’s income. Now the farms are unattended, leaving us at the mercy of the mines. Before Nash returned, the vein had all but dried up, leaving the city desolate. There was no harvest from the unmaintained farms. Magwar, who owned much of the land here, thought that perhaps Nash’s research could help.”

“But gold transmutation is illegal,” Fletcher protested.

“Such is the nature of greed,” Vercio said. “Nash refused again and again, but Magwar persisted and Nash ultimately gave in. The mines began to produce again, but many people became sick. Our doctors couldn’t determine how the disease was spread. The youngest children and the elderly were most susceptible to infection. For a while, even the birds seemed to vanish and die off in numbers.”

“Avian influenza?” Russell guessed.

“Or some sort of airborne toxin,” Edward suggested. “Birds are much quicker to succumb than humans. That’s why they carry canaries into mines—to monitor the air quality.”

“Whatever it was, Nash seemed bowed under a weight of guilt. When I confronted him, all he said was ‘It happened again. It’s up to me to end it.’ No one has seen him since.”

Edward glanced at the Tringhams. Russell was doing his best to hide his expression behind his too-long bangs, and Fletcher seemed to be in shock.

“It happened _again_,” Edward thought out loud. “Russell! Remind me what happened to your mother?”

“She got sick,” Russell replied hesitantly.

“Racing pulse; clammy, pale skin; difficulty breathing, possibly with coughing in the attempt to clear her airway?” Edward prompted rapidfire.

“It was a long time ago… but yes, that sounds about right…” Russell said. “What are you thinking?”

“Those are all common symptoms of poisoning,” Edward replied.

Russell stared at him. He’d gone pale. “You don’t think…”

“There was some sort of accident that resulted in your father’s research poisoning Mrs. Tringham.”

Russell swallowed hard. “You don’t think…”

Ed nodded seriously. “I do.”

“They probably aren’t using rigorous enough safety measure,” Fletcher gasped.

“Even a state-run laboratory might not have the resources for proper containment and contamination prevention,” Edward said grimly.

“What are we going to do?” Russell asked, his expression numb.

Ed squeezed his shoulder gently. “We get the truth out.” He glanced at both brothers. “Are you and Fletcher okay?”

“It’s just… a lot,” Fletcher said, swallowing.

Vercio looked between the three of them. “You know each other, don’t you.”

Ed hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Nash Tringham was my tutor when I was first studying alchemy. When Russell and Fletcher became interested in it, I started tutoring them.” He picked up his glass, took a sip—

And spat it back out into the glass, coughing and choking. Maybe he hadn’t noticed it before because he had been so busy and so distracted, but there was a strong metallic, chemical taste to the water.

“What’s in the water?” he demanded.

Vercio gave him a blank look. “Xenotime is well known for its mineral water. It was once believed to be a fountain of youth—of course that was nonsense.”

“I think the red water mixture is contaminating the groundwater as well as the air,” Edward said. He gnawed his lip. “There must be some solution.”

“I certainly hope so,” Vercio said softly. “It would be a pity to have to leave.” He watched them closely. “What do you plan to do?”

Ed sighed, staring at his hands. “I’m going to put a stop to this.”

* * *

Edward burst into Magwar’s study and planted his hands on the land baron’s desk. “Mr. Magwar, if there was an issue with safely containing our research materials, I’m insulted that you didn’t ask for help addressing it. I may be young but I’m far from an idiot.”

“What do you mean?” Hill asked. He’d followed them in in curiosity and was now staring at Edward in alarm.

“I refer to the fact that the mineral component of our research materials is highly toxic and has contaminated the groundwater, thereby affecting every well in Xenotime, including yours.” Edward leaned over the desk. “I am absolutely certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the red water is causing the epidemic in the town.”

“What?” Hill exclaimed.

Magwar just sat there, opening and closing his mouth like a parody of a fish stuck on land. Edward could see the gears in Magwar’s head turning, the process slow and laborious after the grit he’d just thrown in their teeth. He followed up his advantage. “Your containment measures are a joke. You are poisoning everyone in this city. I can only hope it was through ignorance, not malice.”

“What, exactly, are you accusing me of?” Magwar managed at last. Still playing innocent, even though his guilt was written all over his face. He wasn’t shocked at the revelation; he had just expected to be able to delude Edward somehow, despite the fact that Edward _had_ shown him a display of intelligence neither of the other alchemists could match.

“_What happened to Nash Tringham?_” Edward ground out.

“What do you mean?” Magwar asked, trying desperately to think of an answer. “The research was going poorly, so I had to let him go—”

“Don’t play stupid. He tried to back out. This after you pressured him into continuing the research that _killed_ his wife. The man was grieving, and you came after him like a vulture. And then when he refused to go forward with it… If you can’t see what sort of picture this paints of you, you’re more of an idiot than I took you for. Of course you wouldn’t do your dirty work yourself. You’re a spineless, greedy, unimaginative coward, with a sickening lack of compassion and no guts to really comprehend alchemy. All you saw was a quick and easy way to increase your wealth.” Each word drove Magwar further off-balance, as Edward had planned.

“The research can still succeed! There’s one ingredient missing,” Magwar begged.

“I’m not going to work with a _murderer_,” Edward snapped. “It’s still not the philosopher’s stone. It’s an alchemical curiosity with no real potential for advancement. Nothing more.”

“There’s one more method that I _know_ will work. If pregnant women drink the water—”

Edward grabbed Magwar by his lapels, dragged him bodily over the desk and threw him to the floor. “You’re sick!” He covered his mouth, trying to push down the image that conjured up—an image that twisted into a broken shape with tortured inside-out lungs and gaping ribs, gasping for breath but already as good as dead.

“It could still be the stone if you alchemists weren’t so damn narrow-minded!” Magwar screeched.

Edward raised an eyebrow. “I don’t owe _anything_ to a greedy poser like you.”

“Sacrifices have to be made!” Magwar argued. “The alternate method will still work!”

“No, it _won’t_,” Edward said, sliding his hand into his pocket. “This research is a direct threat to the lives of Amestrian citizens. It’s my duty to shut it down.” He turned his hand, showing the pocket watch to the others. “I may not be able to prove that you’re guilty of Nash Tringham’s murder, but I can sure as _hell_ shut down your little operation. Since you just expressed the intent to continue to endanger everyone in Xenotime.”

“Casper! Denlitt!” Magwar screamed. Two armed guards slammed the outer door open.

“Hold!” Edward shouted, holding up his watch. “I’m a state alchemist. Think about what you’re doing!”

While the two guards floundered in confusion, Magwar dashed from the room, shoving Edward viciously into the desk in passing. Edward grabbed the edge of the desk, pulling himself up. His metal fingers left deep indents in the dark wood.

Hill grabbed his free hand, helping him regain his feet. “Is what you said true? Have we been poisoning Xenotime all along?” he asked desperately.

Edward nodded. “It’s true.”

Hill reeled back, as if he’d been struck. “Dear God in heaven.”

“Yeah,” Edward gasped humorlessly. He pointed at the guards. “You two! Where does Magwar keep his deeds? His valuables?”

“In here,” the taller of the two men replied, confused. “In the safe.”

“If he’s going to run he’ll want funds. He can’t be allowed to start this up again elsewhere.” Edward leaped over the desk, clapping and fusing the safe door closed. It was a good, heavy one—all but impossible to carry away. “We need to secure Nash’s research notes, too.” He took off in the direction of the laboratory.

It was abandoned when they got there, everything just as they’d left it. Edward scooped the journals into a satchel and tossed it to Fletcher. “Where else would he go? He wouldn’t just leave everything!”

“The spring,” Hill gasped. “He must have gone to the spring. This way!”

They dashed through the library, dodging between the stacks to a small side door. Hill grabbed the knob and twisted. Nothing happened. “It’s locked!”

“Not for long!” Edward clapped, shearing the doorknob and lock clean off. The door swung open. Edward charged down the stairs.

There were more than three people behind him. Edward felt a warning twist in the currents powering alchemy. He turned, allowing the others to pass him. Lyra stood at the top of the stairs. “Why are you resisting progress?” she demanded.

“The fact that you’re asking that at all shows just how far gone you are!” Edward shouted back. Lyra put both thumbs on the pendant of her necklace—her _transmutation circle_. “Lyra, stop! We’re in an enclosed space! You could bring the whole mountain down on us!”

It was too late. Lyra had already let the transmutation go.

“Get down!” Edward shouted, covering Fletcher and Russell with his body. The ground rumbled ominously in the wake of the blast. Ed pushed himself off of the Tringhams, ears ringing. He was lucky the pressure change hadn’t ruptured his eardrums. “You idiot!” he shouted at Lyra.

“You’re a state alchemist!” Lyra shouted. Edward could barely hear her, even though she was shouting at the top of her lungs. “You should understand!”

“And _you_ have a long way to go before you’re _ready_ to take the state alchemist qualification exams!” Edward retorted.

Lyra was trembling with rage. “You’d kill my application?” she shrieked.

“I’d save you the grief! Now get out of here! If you weren’t too busy posing, you would’ve noticed that your shenanigans have destabilized every mine shaft in the mountains!”

Lyra ran back up the stairs. Edward continued on down the tunnel.

“If the mine’s no longer stable, why are _we_ still here?” Russell shouted.

“Because the tunnel might have another exit,” Edward shouted back.

“You’re out of your mind,” Russell yelled after him.

“Magwar!” Edward bellowed. “If you’re down here, get out!”

The tunnel opened into a larger cavern. A stream of pinkish-red water flowed along one side of the tunnel. Up ahead was the spring, flowing over the edge of a basin and into the stream. Magwar stood beside the spring, a pistol in his hand. “I’ll never give up this spring!”

“You’re a fool! This whole place is coming down on top of us!” Edward glanced around desperately, reluctant to show himself. “Hill, is this _natural_?”

“As far as I know, yes,” Hill replied.

Suddenly Edward knew how Nash Tringham had first conceived of the research that had cost him so much, and containing this mess was that much harder.

The ground shifted again. “Get out of there _now_ if you want to live!” Ed shouted, already retreating to the entrance of the tunnel. A rumble of falling rock crashed into the spring, cracking the basin. Another heavy stone hid the land baron beneath its bulk.

The four alchemists took off running back toward the exit. Edward became conscious of a roar behind him. “The spring must’ve flooded,” Hill gasped.

Ed turned and clapped, pulling up a series of earth walls behind them, drawing from the floor to avoid further weakening the tunnel walls and ceiling. “That should hold it for a while.”

They made it safely down the mountain in time to see the whole landscape shift as the mine tunnels caved in.

“I hope no one was working in there,” Russell said.

“They should’ve had enough warning. I hope,” Hill replied.

Edward clapped, raising huge earth walls around the mountain to contain the flow as he’d once seen Izumi Curtis do, strengthening them against the tide. “We have to stop this stuff getting into the streams!”

Fletcher turned to Russell. “Russell, what do you remember about Dad’s lab?”

“His books… his equipment…” Russell mumbled.

“He had a row of potted plants on the windowsill,” Edward added. “I asked him about it once. He said they helped purify the air.”

“That has to be it!” Fletcher ran uphill to a tree closer to Edward’s transmuted wall. He chalked a circle onto the trunk, adding internal lines but no elemental symbols to the matrix. Russell ran up to join him. Together, they activated the circle.

The crackle of alchemy was joined by a whisper of water in tree stems. The water level began to recede. The Tringham brothers pushed more energy into the forest; wood rumbled as the trees rose, completing years of growth in a few minutes. The movement of the transmutation changed, urging the trees to break down the contaminated water.

Fresh, clean water dripped from the trees that had saved them, a merciful rain sweet and pure with the warm sharp scent of pine sap.

* * *

The sheriff’s office was mostly quiet; a few deputies leaned curiously over the alchemists’ shoulders as they worked out a plan to keep the red water from spreading into the water supply and purify said water before use.

“You’re going to want to use non-edible species for the reservoir barrier,” Russell said, “just to be safe.”

Slater Hill nodded. He’d been keeping up well with the Tringhams’ crash course in the agricultural alchemy they’d used to save Xenotime. “What about the method you used to make the trees leech out the poison?”

“Effective in a pinch, but I think it would be safer to rely more on rainwater for a while,” Edward replied. “Streams are not quite as affected as groundwater, but rainwater is still probably the best.”

“Noted,” Hill said. He stared at Edward as if to seek out hidden transmutation circles. “I still don’t understand how you were able to transmute without an array.”

“I sincerely hope you never find out.” Edward stared at the table, not wanting to make eye contact that would distract his focus, possibly draw him back to that night. “It wasn’t worth the price, or the side effects.” Even though it was only out of the corner of his eye, Edward did not miss the way Russell was watching him. Their incipient conversation on the train later would be very different.

“What happened?” Alan gasped, running into the police station. “Everyone got out in time, but the mine tunnels have all collapsed!”

“Have you seen Lyra’s alchemy firsthand?” Edward asked. Alan shook his head. Edward took a deep breath before launching into an explanation. “She worked by liquefying the air, compressing its volume, and then expanding it again in a concussive blast. She must’ve forgotten how dangerous that sort of thing is in an enclosed space, or, say, _underground_.”

Alan panted, watching him closely. “What about the stone?”

“It did nothing a good alchemist can’t with a half-decent array to begin with,” Edward said. “It wasn’t a true philosopher’s stone.”

Alan’s face fell.

“Magwar lied to you,” Edward continued. “The compounds used to make it became aerosolized, causing the illness that killed so many children years ago and returned again this year. The minerals contaminated your groundwater. Eternal youth.” Edward laughed, a sharp and jaggedly bitter sound. “I think rather the opposite.”

Alan took a step closer.

“There’s probably no way to study it in safety, even in a fully-equipped state-operated lab.” Edward added.

“How do I know you’re not lying? You want it for yourself!” Alan accused.

“He’s not lying, Alan,” Hill interrupted.

“Magwar was planning to give the water to pregnant women to drink and when the compound caused a miscarriage, use the crystals in the discharge to make the stone.” Edward stepped closer to Alan. “You think I’d _want_ something like that? Is your continued wealth really worth the lives you’d destroy?”

Alan grabbed Edward by his lapels, hauling him up. “You ruined our livelihood!”

Hill shoved between them, pushing them apart. “Assaulting a state alchemist is a felony, Alan!”

“I had nothing to do with the vein drying up. These resources are finite,” Edward bit out. “You should have accepted that reality when you became a miner. It’s the truth of the world and you should either go elsewhere or adapt to the reality here.”

Edward pulled his lapels straight. “Vercio told us that before gold was discovered here, Xenotime was known for its farms. Most of them still exist. With some care, they’ll become productive again. I’m aware it’s not as glamorous as digging your own wealth and finery from the earth, but your daughter can finally work safely next to you.” Edward exhaled. “You should really consider it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarification, when Ed is talking about lives that were destroyed, he means that miscarriage is a tragic, devastating event for many women and their families. If any of my readers has gone through a miscarriage, please know that my thoughts and sympathies are with you.


	13. No Rest for the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The instincts Edward learned in the resistance in the East two hundred fifty years ago serve him well on the train.

Edward shook out his hand. His fingers were spasming and his back and rear ached with the jolting motion of the train and the hard seats and the way he had crouched over the page in the attempt to complete the report—a report which danced and darted around the raw, complete truth in a way Edward had sadly become all too familiar with.

_The red water is too dangerous to research, being all but impossible to keep safely contained_…

He added a line with a clinical description of every one of the red water’s effects, how in the final stages of ingested poisoning it mimicked the gruesome way antifreeze killed small animals, the way the particles abraded the interior of the lungs and sneaked into the bloodstream.

Another brief paragraph detailing the few effects that could be achieved with the completed conduit and a note that stated that all of these could be achieved with a simple array and the effect of lengthening the reach of a transmutation decayed rapidly after twenty feet of separation, that the stone could not reliably hold enough energy to complete a transmutation, even should a circle be inscribed on the stone itself—impractical, as that would render said conduit useless for all but the carved circle and how difficult they were to make.

Russell cleared his throat. They were at the back of the last compartment, in a corner to themselves. If they talked quietly they wouldn’t be overheard.

Reluctantly, Edward looked up.

“Are you going to explain how you did that now?” Russell asked, arms crossed.

Edward took a deep breath, capping his pen and setting it next to him on the bench. He brought his palms together. “I am the circle. I pass the energy through myself and become the constructional formula.”

“How do you do that?” Fletcher asked, eyes wide.

“You couldn’t do it,” Edward told him. “Don’t try. It’s—it’s difficult to explain. It’s something I just can do. Seeing the Truth, it changes you—” They stared at him, uncomprehending. Edward swallowed and started again. “Human transmutation.”

“What?!” Russell almost shouted. Somehow, he managed to keep his voice down.

“In my previous life, my mother died when I was five. My brother and I… we tried to bring her back.”

Russell leaned forward, eyes wide—curious. The alchemist’s eternal, fatal affliction. “Did it work?”

Edward shook his head. “I don’t think there’s any way a human can call back a soul that has passed beyond the Gate. The thing—it didn’t even look human.” Edward swallowed. “I woke up on our cellar floor with Al’s empty clothes next to me. My leg was gone. His body was gone. I pulled his soul back to me, bonded it to an old suit of armor that’d just been gathering dust in the basement. The transmutation took my arm. I didn’t care. I still don’t regret that. I would’ve given _anything_ for Al… and now, I don’t know where he is, or even if he’s still alive… Did his seal break? Did his soul fade once I was gone?”

Ed swallowed, blinking back tears. “I was going to bring him back. I broke my promise.” He sniffed, rubbing a hand roughly across his eyes.

Russell pulled Fletcher closer to him protectively. “That’s awful.”

Ed nodded, letting out a low, bitter laugh. “Yeah.” He picked up his report, staring at it without actually seeing it.

Fletcher dozed off. Ed set the report down in despair. He hadn’t been able to add a single word since their conversation. “I’m sorry Fletcher had to see that man die,” he said softly.

“I don’t think it’s sunk in yet,” Russell replied quietly. “Maybe not for years. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

Edward put his head in his hands. “I don’t feel sorry for Magwar at all. It’s a shame he’s dead and can’t repay the people of Xenotime for the suffering he caused them, but I’m not sorry he’s dead. Does… does that make me a bad person?”

“You tried to save him,” Russell pointed out.

Ed exhaled slowly. “I killed people before. This shouldn’t be a surprise, since I was in the resistance, but…”

“I don’t think you’re a bad person. People are just… complicated,” Russell said, looking down at his little brother. “Sometimes there just aren’t any good choices. I just wanted Father’s research back, and it turned out to be something awful. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there. I guess you just have to believe in chance… or believe in mercy.”

Edward nodded and went back to his report. _It is my opinion that the red water offers far too little in exchange for the difficulty in safe containment and of crystallizing it into a stone. Unfortunately, most of the research documents regarding the red water were lost when a mine tunnel collapsed and the house where the laboratory was located destroyed as a result._

Edward set down his pen, scanning the completed report to ensure it was both legible and coherent. The movement of the train was relaxing and he was still exhausted from everything that had happened.

Edward fell asleep.

* * *

He was awakened rudely by the muzzle of a gun thrust in his face.

Instincts honed by thousands of close calls—inevitable in a war zone—kicked in. Edward grabbed the barrel of the gun, pushing it toward the ceiling. It discharged painfully close to his ear as he knocked his assailant out cold with a punch.

Instinctively, Edward checked the car. Two more hostiles. He rushed in close where the guns would lose their advantage and ripped one away from the man using it, keeping the man between himself and the third assailant. He pistol-whipped the second man and hurled the gun straight into the third man’s face. The last man went down, but more out of surprise than anything else. Edward pounced on him and slammed his head hard against the floor, stunning him. Breathing hard, he stood up. “What the hell?!” he demanded of the passengers in general.

“That’s what we should be asking!” one of the passengers snapped. “If you had just kept your head down, we might’ve still all gotten out of this alive! What if they come back and kill us in revenge?”

The train had been hijacked? Everyone aboard was a hostage?

Why had he gone and fallen asleep in the first place?!

Hurriedly, Edward clapped, forming the carpet underfoot into restraints that would hold the unconscious or stunned mercenaries securely, then patted them down for concealed weapons. He picked up the guns carefully, setting them on the last bench in the car, well away from the immobilized insurgents. He pushed the window open.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Russell demanded.

“I messed up, okay? I’m making it right.”

“By taking on a train full of terrorists by yourself?”

Edward grinned ferociously. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“We’re coming with you,” Fletcher said.

“No. You have to stay here. You two have never been in a real fight in your lives.” Fletcher opened his mouth to contradict; Edward cut him off. “Magwar doesn’t count! We got very, _very_ lucky. Listen. My duty is to keep everyone on this train safe. That includes the two of you. I need you to keep an eye on these guys—protect this car, and make sure the hijackers don’t try anything.” He stared them both hard in the eyes. “Understand?”

“Yes,” Fletcher mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

Edward gave Russell a severe glance. “Russell?”

“Fine.”

Edward wasted another precious moment trying to glare the elder Tringham into submission. “Remember, I’m temporarily your guardian. If either of you gets hurt, that’s on me. So just… don’t get hurt.”

He climbed out and up onto the top of the car, taking a moment to balance himself, then walking forward and vaulting onto the next car. Edward took a moment to pinpoint the hijackers inside, then shoved a window open and swung through, kicking one of the men into the others.

The fight was brief; Edward allowed himself to think ahead as he restrained the hijackers. If the mercenaries’ leader was not in the engine, he must be in the first car. Edward worked his way toward the front of the train, sealing the doors at the front and rear of each car with alchemy to confuse and delay any of the terrorists trying to head back through and retake the train.

Skipping the first car, he kicked one of the men in the engine in the head, knocking him flat. The other terrorist turned to stare. The fireman hit him in the head with a shovel. The engineer kicked the first man in the head to make sure he stayed down; Edward fused the two men to the wall with another transmutation, out of the way of the engineer and fireman. “Thanks,” Edward breathed, already halfway out of the engine, heading back up top.

“What the hell, kid?” the engineer demanded. “Not that we’re not grateful, but seriously… who the hell are you?”

Edward slid the silver watch halfway out of his pocket. “I’m the Fullmetal Alchemist.” Not daring to hesitate any longer, he pulled himself back onto the roof.

In the first car, Edward skipped straight to restraining the mercenaries and ripping their weapons away. He rolled to the ground as a gun went off overhead, taking the last of the terrorists with him. Edward leaped to his feet, facing the last man—definitely the leader by the way he held himself. The shape of his arm under his cape wasn’t right—

As the leader brought his arm up, firing a second time, Edward was already reacting. He caught the man’s arm with his own, elbowing the leader in the stomach. The man grabbed him and threw him down the passage. Edward shook off the disorientation, getting up.

“Another automail user, huh?” the man laughed. “You’re in over your head, kid. The military’s just going to use you up and throw you away.” Ed didn’t bother to answer. He rushed the man, at the last minute grabbing the ugly “battle-grade” automail and using it as leverage to vault over the leader, kicking him in the back of the knees. The man rolled, firing again. Edward dropped to the floor. The man advanced; not much room to maneuver here. “I was in the military. Wanted to upgrade myself. They didn’t like that. Threw me away after I got the surgery. I guess you wanted something better, too.”

Edward got to his feet. “Listen, dipstick! Don’t think I got this for power!” he roared, and clapped. The plating on his arm transmuted out into a blade, sharp and hardened at the edges. It sliced through the man’s automail like butter. Edward clapped again, transmuting him into the rug. “For your information,” he said tartly, “I was _born_ without this arm. I just wanted to be able to live my life, jackass.” He pushed open the door to the compartment. “Is everyone okay?”

A shadow warned him and Ed swayed back. Something blurred in front of his eyes. Hot liquid ran down his cheek.

_I almost lost an eye!_

Edward kicked at the man’s legs. He grabbed the halved automail and swung the terrorist around, his own momentum taking them both to the ground with Edward on top. “I hate to have to do this to a fellow amputee, but you did just insult and try to murder me.” He slid two fingers under the plating, finding the release with ease; the automail dropped, inert. Ed clapped, restraining the man again and gagging him with a strip torn from his own wrap for good measure.

Edward picked up the automail. Unsure of how to retract the hidden blade and not wanting to bother, he set it aside. More evidence. He stood unsteadily. “I’ve got to give everyone the all clear…”

“Wait,” the general’s wife said. “You don’t want to cause a panic, do you? At least cover that up—Jordan, is your handkerchief clean?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Here.” She handed it to Ed, who held it against his cheek, hissing as it stung.

“Who the hell are you?” the general asked.

Edward exhaled, saluting. “Edward Brosh, Fullmetal Alchemist, sir.” He tried not to sway as the adrenaline began to fade. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to unseal the cars, sir.”

* * *

“Wherever you go, no matter what you do, you just find trouble. Don’t you, Fullmetal?”

Edward turned to face his commanding officer, saluting. “Colonel Mustang. As I informed you over the phone earlier, I have a report regarding the red water project and the incident in Xenotime. May I hand it to you here? I have to return the Tringhams to the orphanage in Central as soon as possible…” He was probably going to have to write another report, now. Stupid terrorists.

“Normally it would be expected for you to turn the report into the office in person, but given the circumstances I can give you some wiggle room,” Mustang said. “I’m due to head to Central for my own postponed assessment, but I can file this before I leave. I’m responsible for seeing your Blue Squad terrorists into custody, anyway.”

Ed sighed. “I’m so glad that’s not me—” Oops. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Mustang eyed him incredulously. “You’re a kid, Fullmetal. You only got your watch about a month and a half ago. You think I’m going to make you shoulder that kind of responsibility?” He looked almost… hurt.

“I suppose not,” Edward said.

Mustang sighed, running a hand through his messy black hair. “I wish you’d just tell me your motive for joining up. I’m on your side, you know.”

He was sincere. Ed didn’t know how he knew, but he knew. “It’s… complicated.” And would be much easier to explain if only Mustang would remember.

“I do expect you to tell me eventually.”

Edward nodded.

“At least let the paramedics look that cut over. An infection is the last thing you need.”

“Mustang,” General Hakuro said, making his way over to them. Edward saluted again. A tingling numbness had spread through where his right arm wasn’t—a sign of how tired he was. The downside was that he was even less aware than usual of where his automail was.

“That’s quite the young prodigy you’ve found yourself,” Hakuro continued.

Mustang’s heels clicked together, his former empathetic demeanor evaporating. “Thank you, sir.” His voice was cool.

“Major Brosh has a brilliant career ahead of him, I’m certain. Is there any chance you’d be willing to transfer him to my direct command?” Hakuro looked at Edward, as if giving him permission to speak.

“I became a state alchemist because it would give me opportunities as a researcher, sir. I don’t think I’m cut out for a desk job.” Edward said cautiously, not wanting to offend the general.

Hakuro burst out laughing. “I don’t suppose you would, at your age,” he said. “I could still use a good field agent.”

“Thank you for your offer, General, but I’m not ready for so much responsibility,” Edward said, picking words carefully. “Besides, New Optain is farther away from my family in Central, so I’d prefer to stay here.”

He got the distinct sense that Hakuro was covering his displeasure with his amusement, but Edward held his ground. Hakuro smiled. “Well, you’ve got years ahead of you to climb the ladder. My offer stands. I’m sure you’ll make a loving father someday with that loyalty.” He clapped Edward on the shoulder as he moved off. Edward’s insides twisted at that last comment. It was maybe meant as a compliment, but it felt invasive and in poor taste.

Lieutenant Hawkeye squeezed his shoulder gently. “Some of these old men forget that we have boundaries. It’s all right to be disturbed, Edward.”

Impulsively, Ed hugged her. He felt her go still with surprise, before relaxing and patting his back. At least he hadn’t overstepped her bounds in an unwelcome way…

Hawkeye’s hand moved to his hair. Edward drew in a sharp breath. It was the same as two hundred fifty years ago…

He stepped back. “Sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” He stared at the ground. “It was unprofessional.”

Hawkeye was looking at him thoughtfully. “Apology accepted, Edward.” She didn’t say anything about not doing it again.

Mustang didn’t say anything either. Was he excusing Edward’s impulsiveness as the action of a child, or for some other reason? “There’s something about you, Fullmetal…” he mumbled before turning and walking away.

* * *

“Dad. I’m fine.” Edward leaned away from his father’s questing hand. “If you poke it I’ll get a badass scar out of it, so technically I’m not the loser here.”

Denny sighed and let his hand fall. “I know that you’ve actually been alive for a total of thirty-one years and fought a war for four of those, but… dammit, Edward.”

Ed looked at the floor, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. “I know.”

“As if two soldiers in this family weren’t enough.” Dad looked at the ceiling. “I know you might not really be ours, but…”

Ed grabbed Dad’s arm, maybe a bit too roughly. “What are you talking about?! Of course I’m yours! You’ve been around a lot more than…” He bit his lip.

“Than Hohenheim was?”

Ed stared at the floor. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that sort of thing,” Dad said, pulling Edward close. “It’s a very deep kind of hurt that doesn’t go away.”

Ed gave the biggest smile he could. “What are you talking about? It doesn’t matter now. I have you and Mom and Kaitlyn and Alex and Jace. I don’t even need to worry about Hohenheim any more.”

“You might think that,” Dad said, “but that life was still real, and you lived it.” He went back to preparing the pot roast for dinner, and Ed picked up the cutting board and a knife and started chopping potatoes. Dad shook a dash of cloves over the roast. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Edward sighed, the knife moving mechanically. “There’s not really much to say.”

“That I’m here now doesn’t mean that the fact that someone who was supposed to protect you—to love you more than anyone else—still failed to do even the absolute minimum in the past,” Dad said, taking the potatoes and spreading them around the roast. He covered it with the lid and put it in the oven. The phone rang.

“I’ll get it.” Edward picked up. “Hello, this is the Brosh residence, Edward speaking.” Ed went still, taking a deep breath. “Yes. Thank you. I’m on my way.” He hung up, turning to Dad. “There’s an emergency. I’ve been ordered to report to Central Command immediately.”

Dad wiped his hands on a towel. “I’ll drive you there.”


	14. Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed tracks down the Ice Alchemist and finally gets to enjoy a family dinner.

Central Headquarters was buzzing like the hornet’s nest Al had once hit with a stick by accident when they were young, forcing them to run to the river and breathe through reeds to avoid being stung. Ed ran up the front steps, showing his pocket watch to the guards outside the doors. They let him through immediately while Dad went to report to his own commanding officer.

A sergeant was waiting just inside. “Fullmetal Alchemist, sir! Since you’re unfamiliar with Central Headquarters, I’ll take you to your briefing.”

Edward saluted back. “Understood.” He followed the sergeant up several flights of stairs and through a confusing maze of hallways to a room high in the building. It wasn’t until the man led him inside, saluted, and was dismissed that Ed realized that it was the Fuhrer’s office he’d been taken to.

“Good afternoon, Fullmetal Alchemist,” Bradley greeted him. Edward saluted, too bewildered to respond. “It’s good to see you again,” Bradley continued. “I understand Colonel Mustang is keeping you busy.”

“That’s not a bad thing, sir,” Edward replied, still too off-balance to ask about the briefing.

“Isaac MacDougal has been seen in Central,” Bradley said. “Colonel Mustang?”

“MacDougal is a former state alchemist, the Ice Alchemist, specializing in water transmutation.” Mustang said. “He served in Ishval, but resigned from the military afterward and joined a dissident movement. He’s considered highly dangerous and it’s _recommended_ that he be shot on sight.”

Mustang handed Edward a photograph of a man with a permanent scowl and dark hair with a curl falling over his forehead. Edward memorized the man’s face. The stress Mustang had placed on the word “recommended” had not escaped him, but Edward was determined not to kill unless it was absolutely necessary. Some might’ve called it the high road, but Edward knew from experience that it was the harder road.

“To apprehend this man, you will work in teams,” Bradley said. “Colonel Mustang, you will work with your usual team; Major Brosh, I recommend that you partner with Major Armstrong. Dismissed.”

Edward already knew the major; he’d been Mom and Dad’s commanding officer before Dad had transferred to the military police in order to date and marry Mom without violating the fraternization laws. Mom still worked with Major Armstrong, but Ed only saw the major infrequently.

Armstrong was waiting for them outside. He nodded to Mustang before leading Ed back down to street level. “You have everything you need, Edward? Your arrays?”

Edward nodded tersely. If Armstrong was looking for information, Ed was in no mood to indulge a question-and-answer session, particularly not at a time like this. Fortunately Armstrong took him at his word.

“As alchemists serving the state,” the older alchemist informed him, “we have the privilege to choose our own search quadrants, based on which seem the most likely.”

“The canals,” Edward breathed. “They’re the biggest water source apart from the sewer.”

“Solid logic,” Armstrong rumbled. “Shall we?”

* * *

They caught up to MacDougal in an alley not far from the canal, just a few moments too late to offer backup to the military police who had confronted him first. Edward kept his eyes on MacDougal, not the unfortunate men, as he advanced.

“Get out of here, kid,” MacDougal dismissed him. “You aren’t my enemy.” Edward kept advancing. “Don’t be an idiot!” MacDougal shouted.

Edward clapped, bending to draw a halberd from the metal particles in the pavement.

“What?” MacDougal exclaimed. “No transmutation circle!?”

Armstrong appeared at the far end of the alley. MacDougal dodged a blow from the giant; Edward leaped in, gouging a deep line through the transmutation circle on MacDougal’s gauntlet. Dodging a blast of steam, he clapped, bubbling and rippling the pavement under the rogue alchemist’s feet into a minefield of grasping hands, tripping and entrapping him. Immediately Ed was on top of him, patting him down for more weapons.

“I see,” MacDougal said. “So you’re the Fullmetal Alchemist.”

Edward didn’t respond. “He’s clear.”

“Do you even know what you’re in for, boy?” MacDougal taunted. “Do you know what they might order you to do? What kind of man Bradley is?”

Edward clapped again, redistributing the spear into the pavement it had come from. “That’s a convenient technique,” Armstrong commented. Edward showed the major the blank palms of his gloves.

The military police arrived to take the rogue alchemist away. While the Corporal was busy thanking them, choking steam exploded down the alley. Ed swore, dashing through the clearing steam. MacDougal was nowhere to be seen. “He must’ve had a second circle.”

“I’ll have to inform your mother of that language, young man,” Armstrong said.

Ed smirked at him. “As if you haven’t heard Mom say a lot worse.”

Armstrong gave a deep sigh. “Unfortunately.” He led Edward out of the alley. “We’ll report back at Central Headquarters. The search will start up again, originating here.”

* * *

“It seems as if you’ve underestimated your opponent, Fullmetal,” Mustang said.

“It’s also my fault,” Armstrong said. “As senior officer, I take responsibility for the mistake.”

“_You_ are not under my command, Major,” Mustang interrupted. He turned to Edward. “Do _not_ get sloppy again, Fullmetal. I’ve never lost a man before and I do not intend to lose one in the future.”

“Yes, sir,” Edward said in a subdued voice.

The door slammed open. Edward jumped at the sound. A man with glasses and black hair stood in the doorway. “Yo, Roy! Bit of a tall order, apprehending the Ice Alchemist…” Sharp green eyes fell on Edward. “So you’re the youngest state alchemist. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes.” The lieutenant colonel gripped Ed’s right hand, shaking it. There was no way the man could have failed to miss what it was made of. All Ed could do was mumble something incoherent.

“Hughes,” Mustang said. “If there’s nothing else for you to do, head home for the night.”

The lieutenant colonel pulled his wallet out of his pocket. Edward caught sight of the photographs before Hughes could speak.

“Wait, that’s Elicia,” he said.

“You’ve met her?” Hughes asked, sounding delighted.

“Mrs. Hughes helped me with a research project and had me over for tea,” Ed explained. “Elicia and I played with her stuffed animals.”

“Isn’t she just an absolute delight?” Hughes gushed. Ed nodded, a bit taken aback. “Would you like to come over for dinner?” Hughes asked. “Gracia and I would love to have you.”

Ed grimaced. “I was actually hoping to head home… This was supposed to be my leave.”

“Oh, I see. Well, we’ll have to do it some other time,” Hughes said. “If you ever need anything, Edward, you can always ask me.”

* * *

The next morning was spent in a game of cat-and-mouse; somehow, despite being well over six feet tall, Isaac MacDougal was proving difficult to spot, even more so to catch. Armstrong clashed with MacDougal in an alley, only for the rogue alchemist to disappear again when Ed backed Armstrong up.

They sat in a police station, drinking terrible coffee while Ed tried to breathe through the stitch in his side. Normally, Ed would’ve been able to keep going all day, but the constant chases and skirmishes were wearing him down. _Automail has its limits too._ Even with the constant therapy, it didn’t change the fact that he still had to work harder than athletes who weren’t missing half their limbs.

That was the heart of the issue, Edward supposed. A throb ran through his shoulder; his recovery from the surgery wasn’t truly complete yet, even if Ed had been working his way up through the exercises to try and gain a little time from the inevitable.

He had only had automail for two years now, and he’d been rushing his therapy to try to reach the endpoint that the standard timeline placed at three.

“Are you all right?” Armstrong asked softly. He probably knew better than anyone else who wasn’t Mom or Dad the exact timeline of Ed’s recovery, why Ed was struggling now. Ed nodded tersely, rubbing at the sore muscles near the shoulder plate with his left hand.

What could MacDougal possibly hope to accomplish? If he was so set against corruption in the military, why not simply target the brass directly? He’d made no effort to attack anyone higher than a colonel and he hadn’t tried to kill Edward or Armstrong, although he might have ulterior motives for sparing Armstrong…

There were just too many variables. They had to find MacDougal, fast.

Edward sat up. They were looking for MacDougal, but he was showing up only at certain areas in the city, completely ignoring others. There was some sort of pattern. Edward looked up at the city map on the wall.

MacDougal had been doing something in the alley where they’d clashed with him earlier that day. Maybe he’d retrace his steps, if Edward was lucky.

* * *

The alleyway was still just as the alchemists had left it—still covered in rubble from their clash with MacDougal earlier. For a moment, Edward thought the area was abandoned. Then he spotted movement at the far end of the alley; MacDougal digging through the rubble. He hadn’t noticed Edward yet.

Edward edged closer, watching the former state alchemist narrowly. He should have watched where he was going.

Edward stumbled over a fallen chunk of wall. MacDougal’s head whipped up in an instant at the sound. Edward kept advancing, focusing on looking confident. “Stop right there!” he demanded.

MacDougal laughed. _Bad sign_. Ed’s instincts screamed at him to get out of the line of fire.

“Who’s running?” MacDougal challenged. Edward clapped, preparing to arm himself. “Do you really think you can bring me in, kid?”

Ed’s only warning was a warping of the earth’s energy, a ringing chime and the crackle of alchemy as the chalk circle behind MacDougal activated. It felt _wrong_. Then another and another, all equidistant across the city—the energies ripping and tearing at each other at first, pushing and pulling against each other, then twisting and tangling into on mass, one enormous sustained transmutation, the air growing noticeably chillier as the water vapor froze out of it.

“What the hell are you trying to _do_?” Edward shouted.

“Fullmetal Alchemist,” MacDougal said. “Dog of the military. You have no idea what you’ve signed your soul away to—what the military is trying to do!”

Edward crossed his arms. “By all means, please enlighten me,” he said in a flat tone.

“You don’t believe me,” MacDougal said.

“I just don’t think your method is the right way to go about it,” Edward said mock-carelessly.

“You’re only a boy. What could you possibly want from the military? Go home to your family!”

“Your first mistake was assuming I’m _‘only’_ anything!” Edward dashed forward, feinting at MacDougal but veering at the last minute to target the transmutation circle instead. He clapped, but before he could touch the pavement he saw stars as MacDougal booted him hard in the side, knocking him away from the array. Edward regained his feet, sobbing for breath and eyeing the former state alchemist more warily than before.

“You should be helping me,” MacDougal growled.

“As far as I can see you don’t need any help,” Edward retorted, clutching his ribs. “A cascading simultaneous transmutation reaction—you’re using a philosopher’s stone, aren’t you?”

MacDougal smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I guess I’ll just have to beat the truth out of you, then. Dangerous to infantry you might be, but a hack like you couldn’t manage this scale of synchronized transmutation on your own.”

“You should’ve just gone home, boy!”

Edward sidestepped as MacDougal swung at him. He whipped around, kicking the man clear out of the alley with his automail leg. “Come on, you can tell me. What’s it feel like? How does it work? Does it play on conscious effort or does it just run off without you?”

“Are you completely mad?” And damn, he’d kicked MacDougal too far, all the way to the canal. MacDougal grabbed the railing as the ice surged up, breaking the canal walls. Ed was already mentally calculating distance between the sightings and assumed transmutation circles. MacDougal’s philosopher’s stone was clearly being used to balance a reaction and operate as a power source all at the same time. Destroy the transmutation circles or take the stone and figure out what it was and how it worked; it didn’t matter which one they went with so long as they kept the destruction to a minimum.

Armstrong was there, yelling something about something passed down through the Armstrong line for generations. Ed had heard the same sort of thing at least a hundred times and turned it out. “Major, the transmutation circles!” Ed shouted. “I’m going after him.

“Consider them destroyed, Edward!”

A transmuted pylon kicked him high into the air; Ed turned it into a controlled tumble onto the ice wall. “You _again_?” MacDougal growled.

Ed glanced around sarcastically. “I don’t see anyone _else_ up here, sweet cheeks.” Okay, so maybe he was a _bit_ punch drunk and should’ve told Armstrong so. It was a bit too late for that now.

“Do you _ever_ give up?” MacDougal snarled, transmuting the ice between them.

Edward clapped, subsuming the rogue alchemist’s transmutation and sending spikes toward him. “Not to date,” he snipped.

MacDougal dodged out of the way of Edward’s spikes. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Edward crossed his arms. “This again? I’m in this for my own reasons. I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t understand. How could you? You’re just a child.”

_All he sees is a child. Well, too bad for him._

Ed kicked out, sweeping MacDougal’s legs out from under him and knocking him off the ice wall. He followed MacDougal down as rapidly as he could. “What is the stone? Do you even know what it is?”

“What stone?” MacDougal smirked.

Edward came at him again, kicking at the man’s legs and aiming a punch at his solar plexus. MacDougal caught his arm; Edward felt the excess energy rush through him. He staggered back. “What?” MacDougal shouted. “Your blood should’ve boiled!”

Ed looked down at the shredded sleeve of his coat and laughed. The prosthetic had saved his life again. He darted forward, kicking at MacDougal’s feet. “Why freeze Central Command over? There’s more direct ways of doing whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

The frozen blood caught him off-guard, nicking his left shoulder. The attack threw him off-balance. MacDougal staggered off, cackling. Edward pushed himself up to follow.

* * *

Edward completely missed the confrontation between MacDougal and the Fuhrer. For anyone else, it might’ve been reassuring to know that Bradley could defend the people of Amestris so capably, but Edward couldn’t help but sense some sort of ulterior motive. It only made him trust Bradley less.

Standing at the end of the alley, he felt vulnerable and exposed in a way he hadn’t even at his exam—as if Bradley could see right through him. He stared at the sheet that hid Isaac MacDougal’s body in the middle of a strange disconnect that followed him to Central Headquarters while he made his report and all the way home.

* * *

Edward pushed open the door, leaning on the frame in exhaustion. His shoulder and thigh ached, and his ribs throbbed where MacDougal had kicked him. He avoided the living room, heading upstairs to run a bath instead. With the state his stumps were in, it seemed to take a hundred years. The water heater wasn’t always reliable, so Edward ran the water cold and heated the bath with alchemy—the transmutation energy drawn from the earth’s crust hit like a jolt of electricity, warming his shoulder abruptly. Getting into the bath was near-instant relief for both his leg and shoulder; a different sort than the sharp energy that warmed like a shot of caffeine. Edward sighed, letting the tension in his shoulders bleed away into the bathwater. He dipped the back of his head, not ready for shampoo, just to let the water lift the weight of his hair from his scalp. Maybe it was getting a bit long, but he liked it like this.

There was a knock at the door to warn him before Mom stepped inside. He’d locked the door, of course, but everyone in the Brosh family knew how to pick that lock. There was an occasionally-broken honor system regarding under what circumstances you were allowed to pick it, and parents were allowed to pick it at any time as long as there was sufficient cause for concern.

“You didn’t stop to say you were back,” Mom commented. “Rough day?”

Ed groaned, sinking deeper into the hot water and letting the point of his chin dip under. “Not so much. I’ve been on my feet all day.”

“I see,” Mom said quietly. “It looks like you’ve got some nasty bruises.”

“I sure hope they transferred my leave,” Ed mumbled. “I’m tired.”

“You’re going to have to learn to avoid getting hurt,” Mom said. “Tomorrow you can go get a military doctor’s verdict for your ribs and they’ll determine what to do with you for the duration. The cut looks like we can just butterfly it closed. It’s not bleeding any more.”

“The ribs feel broken,” Ed mumbled.

“They haven’t shifted, have they?” Mom sat on the edge of the tub. “That’s a medical emergency.”

“Nah, just hurts like hell when I breathe.”

“The joys of military life.” Mom gave him a wry smile. It was better than the worried one. “We’ll wait for you to come down for dinner.” She squeezed his shoulder and left, re-locking the door behind her.

* * *

Edward came downstairs in his pajamas, not wanting to bother with slacks, dress shirt, or waistcoat at this point. Alex, Jace, and Kaitlyn jumped to their feet as he came down the stairs. “Careful,” Mom cautioned. “Ed’s a bit sore right now.” Jace wrapped his arms with exaggerated gentleness around Edward’s waist, while Alex fumbled with his body, not entirely sure what to do with himself, and Kaitlyn just put both her hands on Edward’s shoulders. Ed hugged all three of them back in turn and they headed to the kitchen.

As they sat down, Edward glanced at the calendar. “It’s Ishvala’s Day,” he observed, half to himself.

Jace stared at him, mouth half-open. “What’s Ishvala?”

Edward paused, wondering how to explain all this to his younger siblings. He’d talked with Mom and Dad about it, but he didn’t have any idea how to even start telling Kaitlyn, Alex and Jace.

“Ishvala is the god they worship in Ishval,” Dad explained. “They believe Ishvala is the sole creator.”

“Is this more stuff to do with that weird portrait?” Kaitlyn asked.

Edward grimaced. “More or less.”

Alex stared at Mom and Dad. “Is Ed _adopted_?” he whispered, as if the word was taboo.

“More like time hiccupped and some higher power—_not_ Ishvala—decided I belonged here,” Ed mumbled.

Alex tilted his head thoughtfully. “What does that mean?”

“Ed’s a reincarnated mystic,” Kaitlyn snickered. Ed nearly choked on his water.

“Ed can’t be a mystic,” Alex argued. “He’s too… magnetic.”

“I think you mean pragmatic,” Aunt Lia said, chuckling.

“I mean. He _could_ be magnetic,” Kaitlyn said thoughtfully. Edward protectively shifted to put his body between his sister and his automail arm. Kaitlyn giggled evilly.

“Kaitlyn? No sticking magnets to Ed’s arm.” Dad said firmly. Kaitlyn huffed.

“Ed, were you observing before?” Mom asked quietly.

“Uh… we were observing, yeah. All of us were more agnostic but we were culturally Ishvalan.”

“Do you feel comfortable doing that with us?” Mom asked.

Ed nodded. “We would put two candles on the table…”

“I’ll get the candles!” Kaitlyn volunteered. Fortunately, before she could get up, Aunt Lia reached behind her, preventing her from getting up, and Dad got the candles instead. He handed Edward the matchbook, and Ed lit the candles.

“Then we would pass around bread and salt. Butter’s… optional? I guess?” Edward said. He hadn’t formally done this since before the rebellion—since before Mom had died, probably. Aunt Lia passed the rolls. Ed stared at the far wall, biting his lip. It had been some time since he’d heard or said the prayers. It took a while for the words to come; he translated them into Amestrian, even though it wasn’t orthodox.

“Beloved Father, Ishvala, we thank you again for your gift of time and ask for time to continue our lives and support our loved ones… we thank you for the rain and ask for rain again. Please make our hearts and our gardens bloom. We thank you for… grain and for salt… for water and dates. Ishvala, provider of life in the wilderness, be with us in the coming week.”

Ed swallowed, mumbling apologies. “Sorry… it’s not exact. There just aren’t words in Amestrian.”

Kaitlyn ripped a huge bite out of her roll, chewing and swallowing. “That’s okay. We’re not supposed to be perfect, after all.”

“Just to be open,” Edward said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the bits with the observance of the Sabbath turned out well... Please feel free to comment and let me know!


	15. A Stitch in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Studying chimerism was always going to make Edward uneasy.

Edward looked through the file Mustang had just handed him, then back at Mustang, raising his eyebrows. “Shou Tucker, the…” He glanced down at the page to confirm. “Sewing-Life Alchemist?”

“You seem to have hit a brick wall in your investigation into the philosopher’s stone, at least for the time being,” Mustang said. “The chimera connection could be a good lead, going back to what you saw Cornello do in Leore.”

Edward nodded slowly. “Makes sense. I’m no biological alchemist… it’s probably a good idea to understand that branch.”

“Not many are. Also…” Mustang watched him thoughtfully. “I think Tucker could use your talents. From the records of his last assessment, he seems to have hit a brick wall with his research.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

Edward’s first impression of the Tucker household was an enormous house and the solid weight of a huge white dog slamming into his lower back and forcing him into an intimate acquaintance with the gravel drive.

“Alexander!” a young voice called. “That’s naughty!”

“Nina, the dog needs to stay on the leash while he’s outside.”

Edward sat up, slightly dazed, to see a little girl with long brown braids staring at him. Shock written all over her tiny face, she spun around, pinafore twirling, and stared at the man. “Daddy! There’s _people_ here!”

Mustang walked around Ed, ignoring his plight. “Mr. Tucker? This is Edward Brosh. He’s interested in bio-alchemy.”

Tucker adjusted his glasses, staring thoughtfully at Ed. “Of course. But if I’m to show my hand, you must also show yours. Equivalent exchange, is it not?”

Edward frowned, a bit disturbed. Something about Tucker felt off.

“He was attacked by a chimera a few months ago on a mission.” Mustang put in.

Edward shifted the dog off himself and stood up. “I need to know how to handle them safely.”

“Unfortunately chimera behavior is very unpredictable,” Tucker said. “However, I can teach you how they are made.”

“He may also be able to help you with your research,” Mustang put in. “I understand that you struggled with your assessment last year.”

Edward knew that expression by now; the incredulous look of a man who measured him by his height and apparent age. “You’d be surprised,” Mustang told Tucker. “Fullmetal has proven his worth already.”

Tucker started. “He’s the Fullmetal Alchemist?”

Edward smiled tersely. He didn’t draw out his pocket watch; it still felt strange to wear it—the symbol of his servitude to the country that had killed him.

“I see,” Tucker said. “Will you be joining us, Colonel?”

Mustang shook his head. “I have work I need to return to. Fullmetal, I’ll send Havoc for you at the end of the day.”

“Yes, sir.” Edward saluted.

* * *

Edward stared at the creature in the cage for a moment before getting to his feet. The chimera sat at the center of its cage, blinking huge, liquid dark eyes at him.

“That’s probably the most docile, calm one yet,” Tucker commented.

“Because it’s in pain,” Edward replied. “Glassy eyes, sitting in the same position without moving? Those are red flags.”

“You’ve worked with animals?” Tucker asked.

Edward shrugged. “Enough to know that sort of thing.” Growing up in a farming community the first time had taught Edward the basics, but only the basics. He was no doctor or veterinarian. He sighed. “What do you use for euthanization?”

“I don’t keep the drugs in the house,” Tucker said. “Nina might get ahold of them.”

“I see,” Edward replied. “You might want to consider partnering with a veterinarian to check the complete chimeras over and use their feedback to refine your processes. They can also bring those drugs if necessary.” It troubled Ed that Tucker didn’t seem prepared to put failed chimeras out of their misery, but if the man was paranoid about his daughter possibly finding dangerous substances there wasn’t much Edward could do about it.

Tucker eyed him with disappointment. “There’s nothing more you can help me with?” he asked.

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to achieve,” Edward said, moving on to another cage. The next chimera appeared to be a combination of parrot and cat.

It hissed viciously at him before screeching “I want to die! I want to die!” over and over at the top of its lungs. Edward stumbled back, reeling.

“That’s part of a project to create a chimera to be the ideal spy,” Tucker said.

“Is that what the talking chimera from two years ago was for?” Edward shifted, recovering from his near-fall, fighting back the sick, cold feeling in his stomach. “I would love to see your notes on that project.”

“Of course,” Tucker said.

There had to be some way to modify the transmutation circles to select certain traits.

Even as the thought crossed Edward’s mind, he felt a chill run through him. No. Too many of Tucker’s chimeras were in obvious pain that the Sewing Life Alchemist somehow missed completely.

Edward spent the rest of the afternoon in Tucker’s library, acquainting himself with the constructional symbols used in biological transmutation. They were almost wholly unfamiliar, used as Edward was to the use of the base elemental sigils for his transmutations. Rather than dealing in the minutiae of chemistry, Tucker’s texts built off internal organs and the larger movements of the body; the part of Edward’s mind that had thought the Gate was the most beautiful thing it had ever seen wondered for a moment if using these symbols would have an impact on the outcome of human transmutation.

Edward quashed the thought ruthlessly. Human transmutation could not be done. He knew that better than anyone.

It had been a while since anything to do with alchemy had presented him a challenge. Edward was reminded of why alchemists at the level of ability the state required for certification were so few and far between. The “Pinnacle of Sciences” required great amounts of knowledge in many fields—chemistry, geology, philosophy, even physics; and, depending on the alchemist’s specialization, biology, botany, or environmental science. Most people never progressed past the basics as a result.

A quiet sound pulled Edward from his reverie. He looked up. A pair of curious blue eyes were staring at him from around the end of the bookshelf. He smiled at the girl—what was her name? Oh, Nina—reassuringly. “Hey. What time is it?”

She gasped and ducked behind the shelf. Edward frowned. He didn’t think he was _that_ intimidating.

A curious eye peeked around the shelf again. Ed gave her a tiny wave. Nina popped behind the shelf again.

Edward got up and came looking for her—only to run head-on into Alexander. He landed on his back with the dog on top of him. The girl stared gravely down at him. “Alexander wants to play.”

Ed managed to shove Alexander off of himself. “Do _you_ want to play, Nina?”

Nina watched him curiously for a moment, then nodded. “Yep!”

Edward stretched, grimacing as his back popped. “Okay. Let’s go play.”

* * *

Ed darted out of the way as Alexander charged at him again. Forget fighting mysterious shadow monsters, keeping out from under Alexander’s paws was a workout in itself. He snagged Nina in passing and held her in midair. “Caught you!”

Nina squealed and wiggled. Ed had to adjust his grip hurriedly to keep from dropping her. He set her back down. “You’re it!” He jumped backward, out of reach, as Nina lunged for him. Ed let her stay relatively close, not wanting her to get bored or upset. He pretended not to notice her sneaking up on him, engaged in admiring the garden. Nina pounced, slamming into the backs of his legs.

“Caught you, big brother!” she laughed.

Ed looked down at her, pretending to be disappointed. “I guess you did. On the other hand…” He snatched her up and began to tickle her. “I caught _you!_”

Someone behind him cleared their throat. Edward turned to see Shou Tucker and Havoc standing at the top of the steps to the back door. Self-consciously, he set Nina down.

“You’re good with kids?” Havoc observed.

Ed snorted. “I have three younger siblings back home.”

“Thank you for taking care of Nina. I know it wasn’t your responsibility, and you should’ve been working on military business…” Tucker began.

Ed snorted. “She’s the boss. I do what she says.”

“Come back and play with me again!” Nina exclaimed.

Ed smiled, saluting her. “Yes, ma’am!”

* * *

“Thank you again for taking care of Nina yesterday,” Tucker said.

Edward wrote out another equation on his circle and stared at it for a while, trying to puzzle it out. It _seemed_ to make sense, but the differences between chemistry and biology were throwing him. “It’s no trouble. She’s a sweetheart.” He squinted at the equations in his circle. “Does this look right to you?”

Tucker frowned, staring at the paper. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to do with that, to be candid,” he said.

“I’m trying to create a control matrix to allow for more specific selection of traits. Theoretically, you could completely combine two animals and have no visible characteristics from one of them in the finished chimera. It’s better than a random assortment of traits from either animal.”

“It _looks_ like it ought to work,” Tucker said dubiously. “You’re breaking completely new ground, though… It’s up to you whether to take it to testing.”

Ed frowned at his circle, then shuffled it into the growing pile of papers full of potential ideas. “I’ll sleep on it. I don’t want to have to put a chimera down just because I didn’t check my math properly.” He went back to work on the cat-parrot array. “If you tweak this sigil, it should extend the chimera’s lifespan by better incorporating both sets of organs… I’m guessing you’re trying for something that just looks like a normal cat and only blabs to the right person so it could escape notice completely?”

“That’s the dream.” Tucker watched Ed with an expression Edward recognized as a combination of awe, jealousy, and greed. “Fascinating. I wish I had your genius for alchemy, Edward. Are you _sure_ you never looked into bio-alchemy before yesterday?”

Edward nodded. “I had no access to materials on it, and after I got my certification, I was too busy to look it up. Earth transmutation and chemical alchemy is my preference, anyway.” He wasn’t quite sure what the gleam in Tucker’s eye made him feel, but it wasn’t good.

The older alchemist cleared off a section of his work bench and pulled down another book, flipping it open to the array he wanted. “Did you study under anyone, or are you completely self-taught?”

Edward thought of Master Izumi, a strange pang in his chest. “I learned the basics under a man called Nash Tringham. He passed away a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How old were you when you began studying?”

“I was nine. Master Tringham left to go back to his hometown when I was twelve. I studied on my own after that.” That was always what shocked people—that Edward had already been an expert alchemist at the age most started studying. He didn’t feel like telling Tucker that he’d picked up an alchemy book for the first time when he was only five.

“You mentioned siblings.” Tucker discarded the pen into the spine of his book. “Are you the only alchemist in your family?”

Ed nodded. “Thus far. My little brother is interested in learning. He’s seven. He’s going to be disappointed when it’s just a lot of chemical formulae and the periodic table at first. He’ll keep at it, though, if only because he wants to impress me.”

“Was it difficult, being the genius of the family?”

Edward set his own pen down. For some reason, the question tasted sour between his teeth. “Not really. Mom and Dad were always supportive, and I did a lot of self-study. I’ve got friends who are accomplished alchemists themselves—one’s fourteen, the other is twelve.”

“I suppose you can take credit for their success?”

“Yeah, if by that you mean the elder took offense that I was learning alchemy they weren’t ready for yet from their father.” Edward grinned. “Spite’s a great motivator.”

“Did you become a state alchemist to support your family?”

The barrage of questions was starting to wear on Edward’s nerves, straining them tight. Edward took a longer pause to gather his thoughts this time.

“Partly… I also wanted to follow in my parents’ footsteps. They’re both in the military; not alchemists, just regular military, but I figured I could serve my country better as a state alchemist.”

“How do you transmute without a circle?” Tucker asked.

Edward’s mental fortitude was wearing thin. He summoned up a Mustang smile. “Trade secret.” He stood up, closing his notebook, and stretched. “I feel like I’m in the middle of a fog. I’ll go start dinner… that’ll help me get my focus back.” He stood and left the study, not giving Tucker time to reply.

* * *

Edward moved dirty dishes around cautiously, trying to clear the sink enough to clean up anything he actually needed to use. He’d get a start on them when whatever he chose to make was in the waiting stage. Edward poked through the cabinets and icebox—stew was simple and filling, and it was the only thing he could think to make with what Tucker had on hand.

He wiped off the counter, washed out a pot and cleaned a knife and cutting board. He began to chop onions finely, rubbing at his eyes as they began to water.

“Are you crying, big brother? Don’t cry!”

Edward was inwardly grateful he hadn’t gotten the meat out yet. “I’m not crying, Nina. Onions just make your eyes water. Please take Alexander out—he doesn’t belong in the kitchen. He might steal dinner!”

“Outside, Alexander,” Nina commanded, pushing the dog out by his rump and closing the kitchen door. “Are you makin’ dinner?”

“Yes. I’m going to make stew.”

“Can I stir?” Nina asked excitedly.

“Only if you’re careful not to splash or burn yourself,” Edward said, lighting the stove and placing the pot on the heat. “Wash your hands first, too. With soap.” Nina obeyed. Ed sniffed the butter and dropped a pat of it into the pot to melt, then tipped in the onions. “Keep stirring and let me know when they turn clear-ish.”

Edward crushed, then shopped two cloves of garlic finely and dumped them in as well. Carrots, celery, potatoes, cubed beef…

“It’s clear, big brother!” Nina called excitedly.

“’Scuse me, Nina—” Ed maneuvered her gently out of the way. “This might spit a bit.” He dumped in the beef, waiting until the pot calmed down to stir. Once the meat had browned, he poured in water and added the vegetables. “It’s kind of a pity there’s no stock,” he remarked, poking through the spice cabinet.

“What kind of stock?” Nina asked, wide-eyed.

Tucker didn’t keep much in the way of seasonings, but Ed at least found salt, pepper and a forgotten jar of thyme that smelled like cardboard. He gave the stew a stir, added salt, pepper and thyme, then, glad Nina’s back was turned, slid on a pair of rubber gloves to protect his automail and attacked the dishes. “Stock is vegetables, sometimes bones and meat, simmered in water for several hours until the water tastes good. Then you can throw away any bones or extra herbs…”

Nina stirred thoughtfully. “Takes a long time?”

“Yeah, unfortunately.” The faint scent of thyme brought back memories from long ago—cooking with Mom, the smell of the spices—sharper, more astringent, and more pungent than almost anything used in Amestrian cooking.

It had been two hundred and fifty years. He had a family—a mother, father, and three younger siblings. But he didn’t miss Tariquah Al-Rikh any less than he had just after losing her.

“It smells good,” Nina commented, bringing Edward back to the present.

“It’s got a ways to go,” Ed replied.

“Daddy says you’re an alchemiss,” Nina commented, still stirring. “Like no one’s ever seen.”

Edward scrubbed at a pan with a bit more force than necessary. “I don’t think so. I’ve heard of a few who were just as brilliant.” Hohenheim, from the books in the study—Ed wished he could have preserved them somehow, they were probably dust by now—had been centuries ahead of his peers, and Al was, if a bit slower in coming to his conclusions, much better at detail work and had always been able to keep up with Ed.

He missed Al like he was missing half his soul.

“What sort of alchemy do you do?”

“Primarily metal and earth,” Ed told her, rinsing the pot and setting it on the counter to dry. “I know enough chemistry that if it’s a chemical reaction I can probably handle it alchemically. I don’t normally work with living things.” He had picked up a few things from the Tringhams over time, but stone and earth spoke to him in a way wheat and ivy didn’t.

“Can you show me?” Elicia asked.

Ed swallowed. “I’d rather not.” He took a deep breath. “I’m kind of all alchemyed out for the day. Maybe later?”

“Mmkay,” Nina said. “It’s bubbling!”

Edward finished the dishes, then stuck a fork into one of the potatoes to see if it was done. He found flour and whisked in water with a fork.

“What’s that for?” Nina asked curiously.

“It’ll make the stew thicker and easier to eat.”

“How does it do that?” Nina asked curiously. “You didn’t put a lot in!”

Ed frowned. He knew how to describe what he was doing in chemistry terms, but he didn’t know how to explain it to a child. “Well… starches like flour like to absorb water, and they are better at it when you heat ‘em up. But when you heat them up, the starch breaks down a bit and spreads out through the water… it’s almost like how jelly is made, but different because jelly uses pectin or gelatin, not starch, and starch only takes a minute or two, not a quarter hour to set up. Also, gelatin and pectin set up as they cool down, not as they heat up.”

Nina stared at him. “That’s weird,” she said with blunt honesty.

Ed couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah. Science is weird. But it works.” He checked to see if the meat was done, then checked the carrots. “I think we can wait a bit before adding the starch.”

“Do you know lots of stuff, big brother?” Nina asked.

Edward shrugged. “More or less. There’s always more to learn, though.”

“You don’t study as hard as Daddy,” Nina said. “You take breaks?”

Edward felt that Tucker would probably say that Ed didn’t need to study as hard as he did. It left a sour taste in his mouth. “That’s what works for me. There’s a certain point when it becomes impossible to focus without a break.”

“Daddy called you a projedy. Does that mean you can help him study?”

“Yeah,” Edward said. “I hope so. But Mr. Tucker and I have different specializations—I’m a chemical and structural engineering alchemist and he’s a biological alchemist. Working with inanimate objects is a bit different from working with animals.” He glanced at the pot. “I think we’re ready to add the starch now. Do you want to pour while I stir?”

“Sure!” Nina chirped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the only good stopping point I could find...


	16. Author of the Damned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inevitable happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to issue a formal apology to literally everyone. I am so sorry. I couldn't figure out how to make this a fix-it fic.

As he walked up the drive toward the Tucker household, Edward was gripped by a sense of unease. He turned back, hoping Havoc might have stopped for a minute—that he could convince the second lieutenant to come inside with him—but Havoc had already driven off.

Edward pulled himself together and marched up to the front door. No one came when Edward knocked. When he tried the handle, the door was unlocked.

All his senses on high alert, Edward stepped inside. “Mr. Tucker? Are you here?”

Silence.

Dead silence.

The ticking of the hallway clock seemed thunderous against the backdrop of total silence. Edward jumped as a radiator started to knock somewhere upstairs. _They weren’t supposed to be out today, were they?_ Ed wondered, then mentally slapped himself. Tucker should have warned him if they were. The man wasn’t _that_ out of touch with his surroundings.

Edward checked the living areas first, reluctant to enter the bedrooms. All were empty, though things were still in the slight disorder of day-to-day use. However, the beds that were in use had both been made.

At this point, Edward wasn’t sure what would unsettle him more—discovering that the house was completely empty with the exception of Tucker’s chimeras, or that someone was in the basement but hadn’t come upstairs to greet him, waiting and listening to Ed’s footsteps instead…

Edward’s skin crawled at the thought even of Tucker, who was about the _least_ intimidating person he could think of—a _total_ non-threat—lying in wait in the basement laboratory.

Truth, this was creepy.

Edward paused for a long moment at the top of the stairs, then squared his shoulders and headed down. He reassured himself with the knowledge that anyone down here wouldn’t be able to tell where he was in the house any more once he hit the bottom of the creaky steps, but his heart still jumped for his mouth with every squeak and groan of the stairs. He checked utility and storage rooms, all empty, leaving the laboratory for last.

Even as Edward passed between the cages the chimeras were silent. The hair on the back of Edward’s neck rose as he realized that he’d never heard them so quiet before.

There was a separate room at the back of the lab. Edward made sure to check the crack between jamb and hinges to make sure no one was waiting to attack him as soon as he stepped into the room.

On the far side of the room, Tucker stood next to a long workbench. “Edward! Thank you for coming in again today. You’re just in time.”

Edward stood frozen in the doorway, hesitant to advance any further into the barely-lit room. “I thought you weren’t home,” he said. “But the front door was unlocked.”

“I mut have forgotten to lock it.” Tucker seemed strangely excited. “Never mind. I did it, Edward. I created a chimera that can comprehend language.”

Edward had assumed the shape huddled by Tucker’s leg was Alexander; now, coming closer, he saw that it was a chimera, vaguely doglike in form with muddy-colored fur.

“Here, I’ll show you,” Tucker said, crouching down. “Ready?” he asked the chimera. “That’s Edward.”

“That’s Edward?” the chimera echoed, in a hollow voice. Edward crouched down to get a better look.

“Yes, very good!” Tucker crowed. “I’m saved—they must be impressed with this—I’ll keep my license for sure!”

The chimera mumbled a jumbled mess of syllables, only some of which might have been part of Edward’s name, then, distinctly: “Big brother? Wanna play now?”

Edward’s blood turned to ice water.

“Mr. Tucker.”

“Yes?”

“When did you first receive your certification?”

“Almost two years ago. Why?”

“And when did your wife leave you?”

“Shortly before I passed the exams.”

Edward swallowed, trying to control the sensation that he was about to be sick. “One last question. Nina and Alexander—_where are they?_”

Tucker’s bloodless face went an even sicklier shade.

Edward came out of his crouch in a single smooth movement, a lion on the prowl, dread crystallizing into disgust. Tucker consumed his field of vision. “You’re not _saved_, you son of a bitch! You’re damned. You’re _sick!_ Last time it was your wife. This time it’s your daughter and her dog!” He took a step closer to Tucker, who backed away in a panic. “How dare you?!” Edward shouted. “You did _that_ to your own _daughter!_”

“But we’re not that different, are we?” Tucker interrupted. “I was thinking about how you lost your arm and leg, Edward.”

“You can’t seriously think you’ll walk free after something like this—toying with human _lives!_” Edward was hoarse already, his throat burning. The slow grinding of the wall clock was growing thunderous, static rising in Ed’s hearing.

“Who was it, Edward? A friend? A sibling? A parent, maybe? Or maybe you were trying to fix someone as a favor—they didn’t come out quite right—”

_Mom_.

Edward’s fist smashed into Tucker’s face, sending his glasses flying. “Shut up!”

“Toying with human lives? You should know!” Tucker cackled. “How can you not see? We’re the same. You wanted to know what would happen, even if it was forbidden!”

“You’re insane!” Edward’s hands were shaking. He seized Tucker’s collar, hauling him up. “Don’t you dare assume you know a damn thing about me!” he shouted, hurling Tucker bodily over his workbench.

Tucker was still laughing, even with a broken nose and one eye swollen shut. “Progress has to happen somehow! We were the only ones bold enough to make it happen, even if we’re damned for it!”

“Don’t lump me in with you!” Edward shouted, slamming the older man against the wall.

“We’re the same,” Tucker laughed. Blood dripped from his broken nose.

“We’re _not!_” Edward hit Tucker again.

“You should just face—”

Edward snapped. “We aren’t! We _aren’t! We aren’t!_” He pulled his arm back to hit Tucker once again but felt a tug at the hem of his coat. He looked down.

Nina was doing her best to pull him away from Tucker. “Stop hurting Daddy!” It took too much effort to get the words out.

Edward dropped Tucker, who slid down the wall half-conscious. Edward staggered back several steps, putting his head in his hands. He wondered if this was what insanity felt like.

Edward dropped to his knees and screamed.

* * *

Edward sat on the front steps, his elbows on his knees and hands clasped. Havoc sat down next to him, ruffling his hair. “I shouldn’t have driven away so quickly earlier,” Havoc said quietly. “You shouldn’t have had to face that alone.”

“You couldn’t have known…” Ed mumbled. “I was working with Tucker the past two days. How did I not see this coming?”

Havoc sighed. “They say hindsight’s twenty-twenty.”

“Fullmetal.” Mustang exited the house behind them, pausing on the steps. “You should go home.”

“I wish I _could_,” Edward growled.

“Get some rest. Call home. You’re dismissed for the rest of the day.”

“Like hell!” Edward was on his feet in a second. “How am I supposed to act like that?! Like nothing’s even _happened!?_ Nina is—”

“You’re reacting emotionally,” Mustang said, his voice cool, imperturbable. “I can’t expect otherwise, but you have goals, don’t you?”

Edward glared at him. “Go to hell.”

Mustang stared him down. “Go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very very sorry.


	17. The Broken Mind Tortures Itself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people would request a leave of absence. Rest, however, is not a luxury Ed can afford.

“Hide ‘n’ seek, Ed!” Kathleen laughed, running by and slapping him on the bicep. “You’re it!”

“Hey! Don’t rush me!” Edward called after her as Kathleen dashed down the stairs toward the bedrooms, followed by Alex and Jace.

Rather than one of Kathleen’s habitual retorts, there was absolute silence downstairs. “Kathleen?” Ed called, getting up from the living room armchair and heading toward the top of the stairs. No answer. “Kathleen, I need you to tell me how long I need to count.”

Absolute, utter, _dead_ silence.

Unease growing on him, Edward began to descend the stairs. “Kathleen?” The dark stairwell started to stretch out into eternity; Edward couldn’t find the light switch, but his siblings were down there so it had to be all right… right?

“Alex? Are you down there?”

Still no answer.

“Jace?”

Complete silence.

A clock ticked thunderously nearby. _When did we get a hall clock?_ Edward wondered. He could hear each gear grating heavily on each other as time marched ponderously into its spiral, but he couldn’t tell where the clock was. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Nothing but the tick of the clock and the echoes of his own voice.

Had the stairwell always been this long?

Finally Ed arrived at the bottom of the stairs. A short hallway led to a door; Ed opened it and found a room with a dirt floor, light trickling in from the barely-lit hall—

This wasn’t home.

_Of course not_, a little voice inside his head replied. _Our house never had bedrooms in the basement._

The door behind him was gone; the scent of wet paint hung sharp in the air. The oil lamps on the table barely lit the room, casting an uncertain light over the huddled, twisted, tortured shape on the floor.

“What’s wrong, Edward?” Mom asked, her voice just as gentle as Ed remembered it.

Al’s armor was scattered across the floor, his still-wet blood rune eerily cast in the sickly, flickering light. “Isn’t our family enough for you, brother?” he asked, his sweet voice confused.

The blood seal cracked in two.

“Big brother?” Nina sobbed. He couldn’t see her. “Please, big brother. I’m scared. It’s dark.”

The stairwell twisted into Truth’s spiral.

All Ed could do was scream.

* * *

He was alone in the dorm room. For a moment, he almost expected Al to be there; his little brother’s absence was a glaring, accusing negative image.

Slowly, Edward pulled his left leg to his chest. The ache in his shoulder and thigh was a slow throb—not crippling, but enough that he didn’t want to get up.

_You have to eat something, Ed_, a ghost of Al’s memory admonished.

With a groan, Edward heaved himself out of bed. He made a cup of tea, eating a slice of bread. That done, he sat and stared at the wall until he realized that as an officer, his quarters had a telephone.

Edward picked up the phone off its hook. It took a moment to fish the scrap of paper with Doctor Lemain’s phone number written on it out of his notebook where he’d slid it for safekeeping. He dialed, then waited for an answer.

“Leore Clinic, Doctor Lemain speaking.”

Edward swallowed. “Doctor? It’s Edward Brosh.”

“I didn’t expect you to actually call,” Doctor Lemain said. “Did something happen?”

“Yes,” Edward said, almost too low for her to hear.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Edward said, almost too hastily. “I can work through it… I just need to know someone’s listening.”

“I see. Well, I can absolutely do that. What do you want to talk about?”

“How are things in Leore?”

“Rose has been helping me here at the clinic—she’s taken a leading role in rebuilding and finding our own way.” Doctor Lemain said. “As you suggested, no one has gone to that passageway under the church.”

“Good,” Edward said. “Whatever that _thing_ was, it’s probably better not to mess with it until I learn more about what it was.”

“If you get the chance, please thank General Grumman for me. His troops’ assistance has been invaluable.”

“I will.”

“You should visit Leore sometime,” Doctor Lemain said. “See what we’ve been working on. Restore your faith in humanity some.”

“I’ll have to come when I have leave,” Edward said. “But my family always has the first claim on my time.”

“Of course. I look forward to seeing you.”

The call disconnected with a click. Edward set the phone back on its hook and headed to his bedroom to get dressed. He realized that somehow he’d never packed an umbrella, and it was raining slowly, the gray weather soaking painfully into his stumps. Edward made do by turning up the collar of his coat and moving as quickly as he could across to the administrative building of East Command.

* * *

Riza normally didn’t arrive at East Command until eight or so, but she had received a call at six-thirty and made her way there as quickly as she could. The coffee made it easier—it was at least hot and alleviated the dull gray pall cast over the dreary day.

She was preparing to head out to the crime scene, heading out the door only to come face to face with Edward. Something about the haunted look in his eyes tugged at her with familiarity. “Edward. You’re normally not here this early.”

“I… I wasn’t sure where Nina was,” Edward stuttered. “I wanted to check on her…”

“You feel responsible for her, don’t you?” Riza said.

Edward swallowed, his lamplight eyes dropping to the floor, grimacing in self-recrimination.

“I’m sorry,” Riza said. The impulse to pull him close seized her; she wasn’t sure where it came from. “You would have found out eventually. Tucker was supposed to stand trial for his crimes, but he and Nina were both killed.”

Alarm crossed Edward’s face. “How? By whom?”

“We don’t know. I was about to head to the scene.”

“I’ll come with you!”

“No,” Riza said firmly, stopping in her tracks and pivoting on her heel.

Edward’s eyes were wide with consternation. “Why not?”

“You don’t need to see that,” Riza said quietly.

“I’ve seen worse already!” Edward snapped, then shut up abruptly, his expressive eyes blazing. Riza saw him superimposed for a moment over a worn, weary, scarred version of himself, wearing archaic clothing and carrying a bow. She remembered a deadly cough, fever and vomiting growing worse.

“I know,” Riza said, surprising herself. “You don’t need to see any more. You shouldn’t have to.”

Edward sighed tiredly.

Testing out the ground, Riza said, “Have you been keeping up with your archery training, Edward?”

Edward paused, realization and recognition in his eyes. “I do my best,” he replied, “but the house in Central doesn’t have a yard.”

* * *

A fine breath, a waxed and taut braid, and the whisper of goose feathers as the shaft left the string.

Edward sighed in satisfaction as the arrowhead found the bull’s eye.

“Not bad,” Riza complimented. “Now keep it up until you strike the bull’s eye every time.”

Edward nodded, sliding another arrow from the quiver. “Master?”

Riza paused. “Yes?”

“Do you think it’s true? That the Amestrians are coming out to take our homes?”

Riza was silent for a moment. “Who knows.”

Edward might only be eleven, but he knew that Riza knew, or at least suspected the truth.

Her half-truth didn’t reassure him.

* * *

Edward sat in front of the clock tower steps. He had come out hoping the rain would clear his head, but all he felt was the aches and chill of early-summer rain. The grayness of the gloomy day seeped into his bones and made him feel unlike himself.

_I miss Alphonse._

He owed Alphonse so much. He had wronged his brother badly, and he’d failed to make it right again.

A corporal came running up to meet him. “Major Brosh! Major Brosh! Fullmetal Alchemist!”

Edward stood. “Yes?”

“You’ve been ordered to return to the barracks. You may be in danger—”

Out of the corner of his eye, Edward saw someone sweep an arm toward the corporal. “No, don’t—”

Blue sparks. The smell of blood. A tall, broad man with dark glasses and a prominent scar on his forehead advanced on him.

Edward stumbled back, kicking at the man’s ankles. He clapped, raising a wall, taking a few stumbling steps away. Ozone. The wall exploded toward him. Edward ran toward the stairs, only for the man to leap in front of him. Edward darted toward him, aiming a punch at the scarred man’s jaw. The man grabbed his wrist. The smell of ozone pierced the air again, accompanied by a blue flash. Edward was already attacking again as his sleeve tore open. He fell back, the man’s glasses in his hand, revealing red eyes.

“Automail—” the Ishvalan said.

“Cousin Ilai—” Edward exclaimed.

The man seized him by his collar, slamming him against the wall. “How do you know that name, Amestrian?” he demanded.

Edward froze. “Do you remember Tariquah Al-Rikh?” he asked in Ishvalan.

“How do you speak our language, outsider?” the man demanded, lifting him by his clothes.

“I—”

The man grabbed Edward and threw him over his shoulder. Edward’s left arm was trapped under his own body and the man gripped his right arm firmly enough he couldn’t pull himself free. He couldn’t transmute, he couldn’t really see from his awkward position thrown over the big Ishvalan’s shoulder, and if the man didn’t recognize him he was a hostage at best, dead at worst.

_Just hold still and don’t panic!_ Alphonse ordered him. Edward obeyed.

It was maybe fifteen minutes, maybe more, before the Ishvalan’s pace slowed. He dumped Edward unceremoniously on the ground; Edward pushed himself up, trying to take his bearings.

They were inside a building—more of a shelter from the elements than an actual house—in the poor quarter of the city. Edward thought he’d glimpsed scared faces and red eyes while entering the area. Unless Ilai remembered him, Edward had virtually no chance of leaving here alive—a state alchemist in the refuge of Ishvalans? He didn’t have a snowflake’s chance in the desert.

“Explain yourself, Amestrian,” Ilai ordered. “If you have so much as one drop of Ishvalan blood in your veins, how can you wear that watch and live with yourself?”

Edward stared up powerlessly at his closest surviving relative. “Did you make it out?”

“How could _any_ of us truly make it out?”

Edward stared at the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. “I’m sorry.” He _couldn’t_ die, not now—when Riza _knew_ and Mustang had only started to remember—with his mission unfinished.

“It’s the conqueror’s privilege to be _sorry_,” the scarred man growled, “when people like _you_—”

“Enough,” a new voice snapped.

An elderly but powerfully-built Ishvalan man pushed aside the tattered curtains at the door and entered. Ilai turned toward him in surprise, then bowed. “Master? You’re here?”

“I should have spoken to you long before now. May Ishvala forgive my negligence, my own anger and resentment. I am not in any position of authority or blamelessness to say what I will, but I must. This quest in pursuit of revenge must end. You must endure.”

“_How?_” Ilai asked, his voice hollow with loss, and Edward realized with a sinking heart that Ezra was nowhere near.

“This is not the first time the people of Ishvala have been driven from their homes and slaughtered. Perhaps Amestris doesn’t know how to break this cycle of violence, hatred and death.”

Edward wholeheartedly agreed. Amestris was a ruthless, draconian state. Forgiveness was the farthest thing from the rotten hearts of the echelon, and that bitterness trickled down to seed the populace with prejudice.

“The cycle _must_ break,” the Ishvalan elder said. “It must break, or it will end in the deaths of what remains of us.” The old man’s voice lowered. “Let the boy go. He was only a child when our homes burned.”

“He speaks our language,” Ilai said. “Yet he still carries that watch!”

“You may speak in your own defense,” the old man told Edward, not unkindly.

“I know what Amestris has done,” Edward said quietly, in his antiquated Ishvalan. “I know that if it isn’t stopped, it will happen again. I want to stop it. Something indsidious is happening here, I have to do _something_…”

“By a heretic’s art?” the elder asked.

“I pray Ishvala is more forgiving than the heretics,” Edward replied.

The old man actually laughed. “Well spoken.” He turned to Ilai. “Will _you_ forgive?”

Ilai stared at Edward. “You knew the name I left behind me.”

“You… you gave up your _name?_” Edward stuttered.

“My path is no longer that of a man of god,” Ilai said.

“Look at him again, my son,” the elder told the scarred man. “Perhaps the explanation is simpler than you think.”

The scarred man frowned at him for a long moment. “Tariquah’s son?” he asked, voice soft. Edward nodded. “We abandoned you,” Ilai said.

“The decision was mine to make,” Edward said firmly, looking his cousin in the eyes.

“The line broke. We fled to Ishval and left you behind.”

“What else could you have done?” Edward asked with a bitter laugh. “There were too many soldiers.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Repay me with your aid, then.” Edward stood up. “Something sinister is happening in this country. Why else would we have returned? We’re urgently needed.”

“You are the grandson of my father’s sister,” Ilai said. “I have neglected my duties enough.”

Edward nodded decisively. “First of all, I need you to lie low as much as possible. You can’t help me from prison or if you’re dead. Besides, this could become just another reason for those in power to persecute us.”

“I will comply with your wishes.”

Ed gave a sigh of relief. “Good. Glad to hear it. How can I get in contact with you when I need you?”

“I will stay hidden here in East City for a while. If you can not find me, find any Ishvalan and they will pass word to me. It’s how many of us have stayed in contact. We send messages on.”

“I’m staying at the barracks for now,” Ed told him. “If you need to get in contact with me, when I’m on the way to or from East Headquarters is the best time. Send a messenger—you’re not exactly inconspicuous.” Ilai gave him a resigned look, but nodded.

“You offer wise council,” the elder said. “If you need to speak to me again, my name is Kephas.”

“Asim, but Amestrians know me as Edward.”

Kephas nodded. “May we meet again in a happier time.”


	18. Eyewitness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To maintain his cover, Ed has to testify about is cousin's existence. That doesn't mean he's about to betray Ilai.
> 
> Meanwhile, Mustang and Hawkeye both remember.

East Headquarters was blocked off by a police checkpoint when Edward got back. He had to show his identification and watch to get back inside. The grounds were buzzing like a kicked hornet’s nest. “Where’s Colonel Mustang?” Edward shouted at a sergeant, who snapped to attention.

“Fullmetal Alchemist, sir!”

Edward was roughly grabbed by his upper arms. “I thought you had gone and gotten yourself killed,” Mustang growled. The message was clear; _don’t scare me like that, Fullmetal._

“Sorry, sir.” He was. Edward hadn’t thought Mustang worried about him like that.

“What happened out there?” Mustang demanded impatiently.

“A scarred man killed the corporal who came to find me and escort me back to the barracks. The killer appeared to be using alchemy, but stopped at the deconstruction stage. Of course I ran, and he followed. Eventually I was able to lose him in the buildings and returned here as quickly as I could.” Edward glanced down at his sleeve, realizing that the attempt to deconstruct his arm had damaged the fabric of his coat, and his automail arm was attracting stares. Self-consciously, he clapped and repaired his damaged sleeve.

Mustang was watching him, dark eyes inscrutable. “Lieutenant Colonel Hughes will want to talk to you about this. To date, no state alchemist has survived one of this man’s attacks. Your testimony, as a result, is invaluable.”

Edward swallowed. “Yes, sir.” He didn’t want to risk Ilai’s capture, but he didn’t have to disclose Ilai’s ethnicity if they didn’t already know it.

Mustang glanced around to verify that no one else was listening in. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything, Fullmetal?” he said, his tone deceptively light.

Edward tapped his ear meaningfully. “I may not be an adult, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a private life.”

“Understood.” Edward got the feeling that Mustang would pull him aside later on to suggest a new location for this conversation. “The people from Investigations are set up in the corner office on the third floor,” Mustang continued. “I’ll walk you there.”

* * *

Major Armstrong was holding a legal pad and a pen that was comically small in his enormous hand. There was a gleam in Hughes’ eye that made Edward nervous; it _wasn’t_ the scrapbook show gleam.

“Edward. Please have a seat,” Hughes said.

Edward sat down.

“I understand you’ve got something juicy for us?” Hughes said. Edward opened his mouth, not sure how to respond. “Shush,” Hughes said. “Start from the beginning. Be as specific as you can.”

“It must’ve been about five till eight or so… I remember the clock chiming. I was by the clock tower, trying to clear my head, when the corporal came to get me. The killer probably wouldn’t even have noticed me at all if the corporal hadn’t shouted my name. The next thing I know, the corporal’s dead—I think it was alchemy, but stopped at the deconstruction step. All I noticed was that he had a large x-shaped scar on his face. I transmuted a wall, but he deconstructed it. I ran. I didn’t know where the military police were, so I couldn’t lure him toward them, and I don’t know East City that well yet. I think I ran down Eleventh and Raymont but I got turned around after that. Eventually I lost him and found my way back—I had to stop several people and ask them for directions.”

“That’s curious about his use of alchemy,” Armstrong said. “Did you happen to see the circles he was using, Edward?”

Edward thought back to the encounter. “His sleeve shifted once or twice. I saw part of a tattoo on his arm, but I never got a good look.”

“Thank you,” Hughes said. “Your testimony is invaluable.” _Because no one’s survived an attack before._ Edward thought of Ilai. He couldn’t imagine what ugly and awful things could’ve prompted his cousin to go on a murderous rampage, but he was afraid that he might already know. He’d heard rumors about Ishval, and having fought in the resistance two hundred fifty years ago, his imagination was more than capable of filling in the blanks.

Hughes turned to Mustang. “The Fuhrer himself expressed concern about Edward’s safety. What do you plan to do with him for the time being?”

Mustang was visibly considering his answer when an impatient knock at the door preceded the appearance of the coiffed head of a civilian secretary. “Are you done with Major Brosh?” she asked.

“Done with the interrogation, anyway,” Hughes replied, a curious gleam in his eyes. “Why?”

“There’s a call for him from a Miss Rockbell,” the secretary replied.

“That’s important. She’s my mechanic,” Edward interrupted.

“Come back here as soon as you’re done,” Mustang said sternly. “We still need to discuss our security measures.”

“Yes, sir,” Edward said. He followed the secretary down to the front desk.

* * *

“Here you are. Line seven.”

Edward picked up the indicated handset. “Sorry about the wait, Winry,” he said. “We’re kind of scattered today…”

“Do you have any idea how many calls I had to make to find you, idiot?” Winry asked. “I called your house, then when you weren’t there your aunt gave me the phone number for your dorm. When you weren’t in, I just gave up and called the main line for East Headquarters.”

“Sorry,” Ed mumbled. “Should’ve called and told you the dorm phone number.”

“Well, you said you were scattered,” Winry said wryly. “I called to let you know. I heard you’d joined the military, so I redesigned the model you’re using right now. It’s still a civilian design, but it’s reinforced, stronger. It will be a bit heavier, but you’ll adjust fast.”

“Wow…” Edward couldn’t think of anything to say for a few minutes. “I don’t think I tell you near enough how awesome you are.”

“You’re right. You don’t.” Winry replied cheerfully. Edward’s heart skipped a beat. “Well, when will you be coming by to pick it up?” Winry asked, businesslike as ever.

“I’ll have to ask my commanding officer… I’ll call you back later and let you know when.”

“Talk to you then.” Was it Ed’s imagination, or had those words carried a more deliberate weight than their light tone would suggest? “Bye.”

“Talk to you later.” He hung up, turning to the secretary. “Thanks for letting me know about the call.”

“Hey, it’s my job,” the secretary grinned. She had been irritated earlier, but seemed to be caught off-guard and pleased by Ed’s thanks. She also looked as if she was considering ruffling Edward’s hair.

“Thanks, anyway.” Edward made his escape hastily and hurried back to the office where the Investigations personnel were set up.

“You mentioned that was your mechanic, Fullmetal,” Mustang prompted. “Is something wrong?”

Edward closed the door behind him. “It was, and no, not really. She wanted to update the model I’m currently using.”

“Actually,” Hughes said, “this could be the perfect way to get you out of Scar’s way for a few days.”

“Scar?” Edward asked.

“It’s what we’ve been calling our serial killer, since we don’t know his name,” Hughes explained.

“Oh.”

“Did your mechanic mention if the new prosthetic was complete?” Armstrong asked.

Ed shrugged. “Winry’s pretty proactive. It probably is. But the final adjustments might take a few hours, and reattachment will probably put me out of commission overnight.”

“The only issue is to assign you a bodyguard, just in case,” Hughes said.

“I may be excused from duty for a few days to escort Edward to Resembool, may I not, sir?” Armstrong inquired.

“I’ll make the necessary arrangements,” Mustang said. “Do you mind waiting for me when you leave, Fullmetal? I was hoping for some advice on a problem that’s been tripping me up, and your specialization is more generalized than mine.”

“Oh, sure,” Edward said, surprised and a little taken aback.

* * *

Lieutenant Hawkeye drove them to Mustang’s townhouse. The two alchemists sat in the back seat.

The front passenger’s seat was occupied by a loaded handgun.

“You’re starting to remember, aren’t you,” Edward said, staring at the buildings they were driving through.

Mustang sighed. “Trust you to make an already complicated situation even more so, Fullmetal.”

“You’re still mad at me for playing the sacrifice card, aren’t you?” Edward said.

“I still think it was unnecessary,” Mustang said.

Edward sighed, staring straight ahead. “Trust me. It _was_.”

Without turning his head, Mustang addressed Hawkeye. “You watched him die, didn’t you?”

A very brief pause. “Yes, sir.”

”I’m your commanding officer this time around. No more sacrifice plays. That’s an order.”

Edward grinned. “No promises.”

Mustang glared. “Fullmetal.”

“I don’t have a death wish,” Ed grumbled, turning toward the window.

“You could’ve fooled me!” Mustang snapped, grabbing Edward’s shoulder.

“I don’t! I still have to find Al,” Ed snarled.

Mustang raised both hands, backing off. Edward huddled down into his still-damp coat, simmering quietly in a way that was all too familiar. The silence dragged out.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the second chance,” Mustang said at last, “but why are we _here_?”

Neither Mustang nor Hawkeye had seen the Truth. It didn’t fall in line with his theory that having seen it, Edward was simply the easiest agent for Truth to choose. He stared down at his mismatched hands. “Hawkeye knows that I attempted human transmutation last time,” he said. “It’s the reason I can transmute without a circle, but also the reason I’m missing an arm and a leg.”

“Human transmutation?” Mustang almost-shouted.

Ed scowled at him. “Yeah. Keep your voice down. I’m not hard of hearing.”

“What could possibly be important enough to—”

“My _mother_, Mustang.”

“You lost your limbs when you were _eleven_,” Mustang said. Edward nodded tersely. He inhaled slowly, anger dissipating. It took a few minutes.

“Give me _some_ credit, Mustang.” His voice came out wearier than he’d intended. “They don’t call me a genius for nothing. _When_ I attempted human transmutation, I saw Truth.” He breathed in through his nose.

“You could call them a god, I suppose, for a very limited definition of ‘god.’ They’re the guard dog of the gate of knowledge. No one gets through without paying the toll. Anyway, I believe that Truth brought us back for some purpose—most likely someone is planning to usurp them, and Truth doesn’t take kindly to thieves.” Out of the corner of his eye, Edward could almost see that uncanny grin.

“Usurp _god_? _How?_” Hawkeye asked, glancing over her shoulder at the two alchemists.

Ed shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. What I do know is that Truth wants me to do their dirty work.” At the back of his head, he imagined a warped cackle. _Yeah, that’s right. Laugh it up, you bastard_.

“We’ll figure it out, Fullmetal.” Mustang said reassuringly, cautiously patting Edward’s shoulder.

Ed bared his teeth at him, glaring. “Don’t get too familiar with me, Mustang. Don’t forget that I _know_ how you work. How’d you get so good at lying? That sounded _confident_.”

“The plan is to snoop around as much as possible and determine what’s really going on,” Mustang said.

“But do it _without_ using military assets,” Edward stressed. “We can’t risk the wrong people finding out about this.”

Mustang grinned at him—all teeth. “Of course not. You haven’t forgotten who you’re talking to, as you said.”

Her eyes still on the road, Hawkeye sighed audibly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look ma! plot!


	19. Journeys Forward and Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way to Resembool, Edward finds another clue. In Resembool, Ed looks to the past, while Pinako looks to the future.

Ed dozed all the way from Central to Marlowe, tucked up against the major’s side. He only woke up properly when the train was stopped in the station.

“Rough night?” Armstrong inquired.

Ed yawned. “Not really. It’s just easy to sleep on t—”

Armstrong pushed Edward out of the way, shoving his head and shoulders out of the window. “Doctor Marcoh! Is that you?”

Ed turned to the window in time to see an older man dash from the station. He turned to face Armstrong. “What was that all about?”

Armstrong frowned, leaning back in his seat. “Doctor Marcoh was a state alchemist. He served in Ishval, but he disappeared after the war.”

Edward stood up and stretched. “Well, I need to stretch my legs anyway…”

* * *

Stories of mysterious healing and strange lights led them to a square building with a few sparse flowerbeds surrounding it and grilles over the windows. Edward and Armstrong climbed the stone steps to the front door of the clinic. Edward knocked. “Doctor Marcoh? Are you in?”

The door swung open under his hand. Doctor Marcoh stood behind it, aiming a gun at Ed’s chest. Edward’s hands drifted up almost of their own volition. He felt weightless, almost lightheaded, time slowing to the threat.

“I refuse to go back!” Marcoh shouted.

“I wasn’t going to do anything of the sort!” Ed snapped.

“Have you come to silence me, then? Is that it?”

“Doctor,” Armstrong said. “Please put the gun down. We’re not here to harm you or take you into custody.”

“I won’t let you take me back there!” Marcoh shouted.

Edward took a step forward, catching Marcoh’s hand by the wrist and pushing it up and away from them. He twisted Marcoh’s wrist to disarm him and caught the falling gun neatly, then let the former state alchemist go. “_Now_ will you listen? We only wanted to talk to you. We’re not going to force you back to Central or anything like that if you don’t want to go!”

Marcoh looked from Edward’s emphatic gesticulations, holding the gun barrel-first all the while, to Armstrong. “Major, who is this boy?”

“You’ve heard of the Fullmetal Alchemist even here, I presume,” Armstrong said.

“The fifteen-year-old who passed the state exams? Of course, the whole country has been buzzing.” Marcoh took a second look at Edward. “I’m sorry, I assumed you were younger.”

Edward sighed, clenching his jaw. “Thanks. I get that a lot.” He didn’t _need_ the constant reminders that he was small for his age.

“Whatever possessed you to take the exams? A child your age shouldn’t have to worry about money. There are other, better ways to serve your country!”

“I had my own reasons,” Edward said firmly. “May we come in? I don’t mind standing out on the porch, but if that’s not your habit the neighbors start to gossip.”

“Oh… yes,” Marcoh said. He turned and led them inside.

They sat around the kitchen table. Marcoh brought tea. “Why choose to become a state alchemist?” he said, sitting down across from Edward.

“There is so much research civilian alchemists just can’t access,” Edward began. Marcoh shook his head. “_Also_,” Edward continued determinedly, “I’ve seen what’s happening in this country. This way, I can do something about it.”

“You may regret that idealism,” Marcoh said cynically. “The military has a way of twisting youthful idealism into something sinister.”

“It’s still _my_ choice to make and mine alone,” Edward said, staring at the table.

“I would not go back there, not with what they ordered me to research,” Marcoh said.

“What were you ordered to research?” Armstrong asked.

Marcoh lowered his voice, though there was no need. “The philosopher’s stone.”

Ed looked him in the eyes. “That’s a _myth_.”

“But you don’t really believe that,” Marcoh said, meeting Edward’s gaze. The doctor’s eyes were deeply troubled.

“I will admit I keep coming across it in my research,” Edward snapped, “but it makes no _sense!_ Alchemy is _science_. There are no cheats or shortcuts. It doesn’t work like that.”

In response, Marcoh took something out of the interior pocket of his coat; he unscrewed the lid of the small bottle and poured a bright rich-red something out onto the table. It didn’t spread like water or oil; it gathered into a single bead a little larger than Ed’s thumbnail. “You’re familiar with the many names for the stone. So it shouldn’t surprise you that they can take many shapes.”

Ed couldn’t take his eyes away from the seemingly-innocuous red droplet. “_How?_”

Marcoh made eye contact with him, his eyes serious. “The philosopher’s stone is real. And it’s pure evil. Don’t try to seek it out.”

“Pure evil _how_?” Edward asked, glancing to the ‘stone’ again.

“I can’t say.”

Edward shoved his chair out of the way. “I keep tripping over this thing,” he said, his voice shaking. “And you won’t even tell me why I need to be cautious!” His closed fist slammed against the table.

“Edward, please calm down,” Armstrong said. The words were a request, but the tone was a command. Armstrong turned to Marcoh. “Does he look like he would want to use the stone, Doctor?” There was a thread of accusation buried in the words.

“I still can’t tell you. That research was the devil’s work. If you pursue it you’ll see hell.”

“I’ve _already_ been through hell!” Edward snapped, both hands on the table, fingers inches away from the stone. If he thought hard, he could almost feel his skin crawling at the proximity, hear the distant screams…

They all held their same attitudes for a drawn-out, tense moment.

“I’ve said too much already,” Marcoh said, defeat in his eyes and voice. “Please, leave.”

Edward grabbed up his coat from the back of the chair and stormed out the door.

* * *

“Don’t you think you were perhaps a little harsh?” Armstrong inquired, following Edward more calmly back to the station. Somehow, the tone wasn’t judgmental, even though it was reproving.

Edward growled to himself under his breath. “Maybe. This could’ve been my only chance to understand what the philosopher’s stone really is!”

Armstrong breathed out audibly. “True. But this isn’t like you, Edward.”

_“It’s still me!”_ Edward whirled on his heel to face the major. “Excuse me for being a little stressed when I’ve been trying to stop some vague scheme possibly threatening the safety of everyone in Amestris and probably involving some madman’s attempts at godhood when I’m not even sure what, exactly, the hell is going on! I’m in the service of the same country that _killed_ me two hundred fifty years ago—a decision that is looking worse and worse by the _second_—”

“Excuse me!”

Edward’s head jerked up. Marcoh ran up to them, only to double over, panting, when he caught them. It took the older man a few minutes to catch his breath. Finally, the former state alchemist pulled himself together. “I might regret this, young man, especially how you appear to be… a little disturbed. Still… I have a feeling you might be the only one capable of untangling this affair. You may be able to find the truth within the truth.” He pressed a folded slip of paper torn from a notebook into Edward’s hand. “You should probably consider getting help for that temper of yours. Otherwise you might find it flaring up in the most inconvenient of moments. Don’t get yourself court-martialed. I still think you’re a young fool.”

Edward was too surprised to say anything. It was Armstrong who said, “Thank you very much for your confidence, Doctor.”

“Good luck,” Marcoh said. He turned to return to his clinic. Edward bowed wordlessly.

* * *

The front of the Rockbell house was just as bright and pleasant as it had been 250 years ago.

Of course the original Rockbell residence had long ago fallen prey to time and Amestrian border conflicts, but the current building still carried the same friendly, welcoming air.

Den, the Rockbells’ three-legged retired sheepdog, loped around the side of the house to meet them, and Ed bent down to greet her, scratching behind her ears. She had saved him from a runaway cart the first time he’d come to Resembool, for the initial consultation. Den had lost her left front leg in doing so. Her replacement leg was one-of-a-kind; Ed couldn’t help but be impressed with the brave dog’s patience. It was one thing to endure automail surgery when you knew exactly what was happening and the planned outcome; a completely different one when you had nothing but faith in your human family to carry you through.

“Hey, girl,” Ed mumbled in the dialect he’d spoken as a child hundreds of years ago. “Did you miss me?” Den’s tail thumped against his leg as Ed straightened up and knocked on the door.

Pinako opened it. “Edward. Was your train late?”

“There was a delay at the station in Marlowe,” Ed explained. “This is Major Armstrong. He’s a family friend.”

“Please come in.” Pinako led them into the living room. “Winry! Come down, we’ve got guests.”

As Winry’s footsteps rattled down the stairs, Pinako looked Ed over. “Edward. Have you shrunk?”

Ed sprang from the sofa like a rubber band snapping. “Gah! Why is everyone always on about my height?! I _get_ it! I’m a half-pint midget who everyone mistakes for a _twelve-year-old!_ Besides, you’re one to talk, Granny!”

Pinako quieted him with a hand to his chest. “Good to know you haven’t changed.”

Ed grumbled something incoherent under his breath. Winry was already bringing things over from the workbench.

“Major, if you would wait out here?” Pinako requested. “I’d like to check the condition of Edward’s attachment assemblies before we do the final adjustments with the replacement pieces—particularly since those will be heavier than what Edward is wearing right now.”

“Of course,” Armstrong said.

Winry hustled Ed into the examining room. “I see you’re still dressing in black like a motion picture villain.”

“I ruined most of my white dress shirts with oil and grease before I got smart,” Edward complained. “It’s worth it to be able to walk on my own.”

“So mix it up. Don’t go all-black.”

“You sound like my aunt,” Ed remarked, removing his charcoal-gray waistcoat and shirt.

Pinako examined his shoulder closely. “It looks healthy and isn’t warm to the touch. Tell me what you feel as I press down.”

“That’s just numb—okay, it’s sensitive there.”

Pinako moved her fingers. “What about here?”

Ed jumped and gasped. “That—my whole arm feels like _ice_. What did you just do?!”

“The nerves are still doing what they’re supposed to, then. That’s good,” Pinako commented, moving on to probe at his leg. “From the muscle development here, it looks like you’ve been stepping up your therapy. You should’ve called to ask us about that.”

“Sorry,” Ed mumbled.

“You’re lucky you didn’t pull that before you were fully healed,” Pinako said. “It can take years for the rest of your body to acclimate, and sometimes patients mistake progress for completion. Never wanted to wait, did you, boy?”

“But it’s for the best, right? Since the new automail is heavier,” Edward said.

“I am not in any way condoning your poor choices, Ed,” Pinako said severely. “Winry, aren’t you concerned that the heavier automail will stunt his growth? He’s small enough as it is.”

Ed glared at her, outraged.

“Well… There’s not much that we can do about that,” Winry said. “You’ve got a scar across the side of your mouth, now.” Ed twisted to stare at her, a deer caught in headlights. “It doesn’t look bad, but I’d rather you didn’t accumulate more. We can finish adjusting the limbs for you this afternoon and attach them in the morning. That way you’ll at least get a good night’s sleep beforehand.”

“And then the Major and I can take the afternoon train back to Central to follow up that clue.” Edward added, jerking slightly as Pinako tugged him forward to examine the exterior plating on his shoulder.

Winry sighed. “Why do you have to be so driven?”

Ed shrugged uncomfortably, not sure how to answer.

“Hush, girl, it’s what you love about him,” Pinako said.

With his spine twisted so that Pinako could ensure the anchoring bolts weren’t shifting, Edward almost missed the interesting shade of pink that Winry flushed to. Then he was blushing himself, and avoiding her eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pinako smirk.

* * *

“Where is Edward?” Alex asked, setting the freshly-split firewood down in a neat pile next to the stove. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He said he was going out,” Pinako Rockbell said. “Last I saw him, he was headed in the direction of the cemetery. Better leave him to himself, for now.”

“Is it good for him to be alone like this?” Alex asked, looking out the front windows even though he knew Edward likely wouldn’t be back yet.

“Perhaps not.” Pinako shifted in her chair, setting aside a screwdriver and picking up a pair of needle-nose pliers instead. “Still, Edward’s always been a self-sufficient boy. He’s not all alone. Den went with him. Sometimes animals are better than human companionship. Conversation can be a taxing enterprise.”

“I’ve known him for a long time, now… Lately, though, he’s been hard to read.” Alex reached for the broom, intending to help with what chores he could.

“He’s starting to remember, isn’t he?” Pinako remarked. It was so off-handed Alex almost missed it, but when it registered, he almost dropped the broom.

“What?”

“I’ve known for a while,” Pinako said, pulling a wire tight with the pliers. “I was his guardian in his last life. I first remembered, myself, the first time I held my infant granddaughter.” Pinako shook her head. “And then when Edward first came to our consulting room when he was eleven and tired of not being able to move and run like other children. I knew it was happening again. When Ed sets his mind to do something, it’s as good as done; I fear what that means for him, though.”

Pinako set down her tools, twisting to make eye contact with Alex. “I don’t know why we’re here or why we remember. I just hope Edward finds his brother safe and sound and that he and Winry can be happy this time.”

“Edward and Winry?” Alex asked. He reevaluated the way Edward had interacted with Winry, the subtle expressions flitting through the boy’s pale eyes, the shy, cautious gestures of his hands. Yes, he could see it—shy and uncertain, but just as strong as the young alchemist and mechanic.

“Those two were made for each other, but there was the war, and we couldn’t see the way forward. Edward never told her.”

* * *

He took the path one step at a time, meditatively. Each step reminded him more and more of the Resembool of the past; peaceful and free, before the war. It was just as quiet and small as it had ever been. At least the war had not changed his home until it was unrecognizable. New buildings replaced most of the houses, but he could still name each farm; the boundaries hadn’t moved in centuries.

The cemetery was nestled at the edge of the trees that surrounded Resembool on the mountainous side. It had grown since the last time he was here; Edward didn’t want to think of how many names he’d known that were now carved into headstones. It was simultaneously too many and too few; he was not naïve enough to not realize that many of his friends and comrades in arms probably rested in unmarked graves far from here.

Mom’s grave was at the far corner of the cemetery, almost the oldest part. Edward had no idea how old Resembool was, how long it had nestled in the forest at the edge of the green side of the mountains. It took him long enough to walk through the green paths, putting off a long-overdue visit. He did not look either right or left; it didn’t seem right to try to find those he’d known long ago. He did not deserve to know whether they died in battles or survived, only to die of old age.

A bent, twisted cherry tree, blooming late, spread over her grave; asphodel marched from the edges of the wood up the low knoll, forget-me-not growing in scattered blue clumps all around. It was beautiful, quiet, lonely; as close to heaven as Edward was ever likely to see.

The stone planted at the head of the grave—one of the first to be erected in Resembool’s small cemetery—had been overgrown with moss and weathered by time until the name and dates were all but unreadable. It didn’t matter, since he already knew them by heart.

_Trisha Elric_

_1623-1650_

_Beloved wife and mother_

Edward set the sunflower he’d brought on the grave. “Hey, Mom.” He blinked back tears. “I miss you.”

Twenty-seven years. She’d only lived twenty-seven years.

“I’m so sorry, Mom. I didn’t keep my promise.”

He’d failed to keep Alphonse safe, and then he’d failed to restore Al’s body. There were no words that could make his failure right again.

“I’m so sorry.”

* * *

There was nothing left of their old house on the hill but the fallen stones denoting where the foundation had been. The timbers and rafters had rotted away to nothing long ago.

Edward walked into the half-standing stones, imagining the house in his mind’s eye—kitchen and family room, the bedrooms and study upstairs, the lab itself in the now-buried basement—and the unmarked grave of the symbol of his pride behind.

There was nothing here now. It was not a house, so it could not be a home.

The tree in the yard had split from lightning and there was no trace of the swing.

Edward wanted to feel something, anything, for this lonely, empty place, but could not. There was nothing here now, no home to return to. And that was almost harder than the weathered, nameless stone heading Mom’s grave.

He exited the fallen rectangle of stone through a gap in the wall and walked around the perimeter to the back. It had been here.

Edward knelt in the damp soil and sweet, soft grass. There were no words he could say to the mangled corpse, the shape his transgression had taken. All his apologies had been spent uselessly.

_I was wrong._

Den whined. Edward glanced at the dog. She pushed her head up under his arm.

“Okay. Okay, Den. Let’s go home.”

His apologies were worth nothing. Still, in his own mind, he told the broken form birthed by his sin, _I’m sorry_.

* * *

It was calming to just be, to exist like this, with the soft sounds of Winry’s tools nearby, as he read. It was almost an invasion of her privacy, but Winry would’ve told him so if she wanted him out of her room.

Suddenly, Winry broke the silence. “I didn’t really hear you’d joined the military until I called your parents, _after_ I finished your new automail.”

Edward looked up from his book and stared at her. “Winry?”

“I just thought that…” Winry shook her head and turned back to her workbench.

“You wanted to protect me,” Ed breathed.

“It’s silly,” Winry said, half-defensively.

Edward stood up. It took a few steps to cross the room; it seemed to take an eternity. He rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be as safe as I can. I promise. I don’t want to make you cry.”

Winry sniffed, swiping at her eyes with the back of a hand.

“There you go again,” Ed mumbled, irritated. He turned to stomp back to his seat, but Winry caught his arm. She tugged at the prosthetic she’d created until Ed looked down, their eyes meeting.

“Thanks,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JustAnotherGhostwriter, this one's for you. I cried writing this, so. You're welcome.
> 
> Asphodel, in the language of flowers, means "my regrets follow you to the grave." Forget-me-nots are self-evident. As for cherry trees, I didn't look up any symbolism, but they're beautiful in bloom. There's a strong association with the sun and Xerxes and indirectly the Elrics--like the sun, they come from the east and move westward; their hair and eyes are gold, etc--so I thought a sunflower would be an appropriate offering for Ed to bring. 
> 
> Any medical errors (weird nerve responses) and inconsistencies of where flowers grow--Amestris is supposed to be Europe, but I didn't check whether asphodel and forget-me-nots prefer shade or sun and if they grow in mountain climates--and when they're in bloom--I KNOW it's late spring, late for cherry blossoms and way too early for sunflowers--are mine, but completely unapologetic. I'm going to have my symbolism here dammit!


End file.
